Brian Smith's Life

Creation and Destruction

2010-01-31T18:43:00.000-08:00

Background story: So, I began a quick email to Greg, a friend of mine with whom I attended college. You see, Greg and I had many very late night runs to the 7-11 across the street from my dorm on the way home from the bars, with only one purpose - to gorge ourselves on 7-11 nachos. And because of that, I started to write a quick email to Greg saying that I went to 7-11 late the other night, and got some nachos, and thought of him. But this is how the email turned out...

Last night I went and got WORD REDACTED with a friend in Arlington, and as we wandered around aimlessly in the entirely unfamiliar Clarendon area looking for our car that we misplaced somewhere in the middle of the evening, we happened upon a 7-11. Freezing cold, we became quickly distracted from our search by the comfort of the familiar orange and green sign - a 24 hour front porch light inviting us to come home. Upon entering our sterile, couchless living room through the knobless glass doors, we knew our destination without even having to discuss. A quick and painless conversation with a nervous Nepali housemate behind the counter pointed us in the direction of the most incredible home appliance known to man and the little plastic packages that sit next in anticipation of assistance.

As I ripped open the surprisingly strong outer wrapping, I smiled devilishly like a 9 year old boy with a water balloon as the cute girl slowly approaches from around the corner. But the true joy began as my friend and I together depressed the first of a series of two red buttons on the ingenious apparatus, and the not quite solid but not quite liquid earth-brown substance found its temporary home on the rolling hills of corn below, seemingly flipping the horizon in the miniature world I held in my hands.

But from the below which was now the above, a force of wonder was brewing. This phenomenon, millions of years in the making, was just one more finger press from being unleashed on the new inverted continental crust formed by the previous, almost perfect union. And like an earthquake that unveils a fault reaching to the depths of the core, the electronic signal following the depression of the second button shook the countertop steel appliance, and a flow of violent yellow lava was unleashed on the unsuspecting field below.

And as I stood in awe at the beauty of the creation of our little universe, I had the brief understanding of how God felt at the end of the third day. But my time of creation had ended. Inside of me the pre-determined shift to destruction had already begun. And while I gave myself a brief moment to admire what would soon no longer be, the devilish boy inside raised his water balloon with the target both in his sights and within striking distance.

Ecstasy.

As my friend and I used our fingers to finish the cycle of creation and destruction, completing the disappearing act with the last trickle of the now semi-cool lava, we knew this was but one cycle in the endless circle of life. While this cycle had come to a close, and we said our goodbyes to our new Nepali friend, we had no regrets and no lamentation. Instead, we left with a sense of belonging, a sense of meaning, a sense of purpose. For a brief moment, just before we re-entered the cold, car-less world outside, we knew the universe around us as we had known the universe we had just created and consumed, and we felt - peace. And I thought of Greg.

Openness and Designed Encounters

2010-01-30T14:44:00.000-08:00

I headed to the train station in Orange County to head north to LA during a torrential downpour about 10 days ago. The plan was to meet up with Greg, go get some dinner with him and Annette, and perhaps have a chance to see an adorable girl for an hour before she had to head to her graveyard shift at the clinic where she works. Of course, this is jumping into the middle of a larger story, which I'll share next.

But here's a great story within a story - the train never came. In fact, about 30 minutes before it was meant to arrive and take me to LA, the ticket agent told me she would have to refund my ticket fare because the train was stuck in San Diego due to flooding. Next train was almost three hours out. Ouch.

I scurried to find another way, but it was looking unlikely and dinner with Greg and Annette, and perhaps an hour with the adorable redhead, looked like it might have to be postponed. Until a sweet 45ish Latina woman walked through the front door, also quickly finding out that the northbound train isn't going to make it. "Fine, I'll just drive home then," she said. And of course, I overheard, or I wouldn't have written it here. "Excuse me, ma'am, umm, where exactly is home? Is it here in Orange County, or do you mean it's up in LA." "LA, why, do you need a ride?" "YES, please, that would be amazing, thank you so much." "Where are you headed?" "I don't know, but anywhere in LA would be great." "Hop in." Wow. WOW.

But here's the amazing part. I began to tell her about me, and the obvious question quickly came up. "What in the hell happened to you?" I don't think she actually used those words, but she would have if she wasn't being polite. And as I explained my spiritual transformation in March 2008 and the following dramatic changes in my personality and how that really led me to be in California right now on this pseudo-business trip, her eyes started to kinda well up, especially as I spoke about how angry I was beforehand and how (relatively) free I am of anger now. And she looked at me, and asked if I believed in God. I said sure, probably not in the way you believe, but I'm sure we're not that different.

And she said - "I've never really believed this before, but I think God brought us together today. I've been getting angrier and angrier every day. I can't get it out of me. I believe you are here to help me let it go."

And you know what? I think she's right. I shared my experience, and we talked about hers. I simply shared - forgiveness, giving up control, acceptance of yourself and others, watching your experience instead of identifying with it, love, laughter. And SHE shared - her work, her mother, her stuck life. And while I'll never know whether or not our hour conversation had a lasting impact on that wonderful woman, when I left the car I tried to give her some money for the trouble. And with a hug in her eyes, she said, "Absolutely not. You can't ever understand, but it is I who owes you."

And of course she doesn't. Because here's what's wonderful about it... It was free. It cost neither of us anything. Sure, she went a little out of her way to drop me off at the original train station I was headed for (which I actually arrived before the train would have if it hadn't been stuck in SD), but neither of us were really taxed. Instead, we JUST shared. Openly.

Openness. First mine in reaching out to ask a stranger for a favor. And then hers to offer a stranger a favor. Openness to the possibility that there's something out there looking out for us. Openness in sharing our feelings, experiences, problems, failures, guilt, shame, and love. Simply being open. That's all it took.

It's wonderful how much we can get for so little input if we just allow ourselves to be open to the world. Which, by the way, is actually a good segue into the larger story, which I'll write about, umm, tomorrow. Perhaps after I share a short meaningless metaphorical email I accidentally found myself writing to Greg the other day, the end result of I found quite amusing. Even amusing enough to share.

NYC NYE 2009/10

2010-01-18T16:41:00.000-08:00

WOW.

Okay, it's now been two weeks since New Year's Eve weekend, so I've had some time to process (and sober up). Here's a brief recount (obviously, this is the online version of events - PG-13).

I've had a lot of fun with over the past several years. Awesome times like Ranch Party Weekends, Friendsgivings, Beer Golfs, Roadtrips in Costa, Night in Ecuador come to mind.

Ranch Party Weekend - circa 2006

And while each of those were absolutely amazing, and I mean AMAZING, New Year's Eve this year deserves to be on that list, and perhaps in a different list of its own.

You see, it's all about synergy. Yes, I used the word synergy there. Somehow there was a great collision on NYE of people from Oklahoma, from DC, from Virginia, from Jersey, and from New York. And with that collision came some sort of synergistic (yes, I used the word synergistic) explosion followed by a mass of such great density that it pulled in free-spirits from California, Indiana, Florida, Massachusetts, Puerto Rico, Ireland, Spain, and countless other communities from across the world. And what resulted was magical.

To add some quick highlights, it all started with, well, Doug. Maybe. And Brad. Doug and Brad were old friends - perhaps grew up together. And Doug at one point decided to visit Brad in DC, with the idea of going to visit Brad's cousin up in New York for NYE. Doug made the mistake of telling me, which was the final straw in my decision to move to DC in the first place. Doug was eventually joined by Jon, and the four of us embarked in the morning of the 31st to the Jersey Shore for Part 1: Awesome.

You see, by the time we even got to our hotel on NYE, before we had even had dinner or gone to a great club on the beach, we had had a successful NYE. In fact, we had already had an incredible NYE. Maybe the ride wasn't quite as awesome as the NYEs we used to spend in Aspen, but it definitely beat my last one with dengue in Costa. Just non-stop laughter, seat dancing, and roadside pee breaks. You see, we grabbed some 40's of Hurricane and some Mad Dog, and the fun began. And the laughter began. Oh, by the way, this is me before we even went out on NYE...

I just wrote a lot about that first night, and decided I was not going to do all this justice. I'll just enter some highlights for my own personal entertainment:

Seven.
Free entrance.
No numbers.
Five AM nachos with Doug and Brad in 7-11. IN 7-11.
Doughnuts - in parking lot and as table in 7-11.
Wake and run.
Rally.

Skip skip skip. Brother Jimmy's on the East side, the start of Part 2: Awesomer: The Real Start. I'm showing this picture again, because this was the epitome. It leaves out three of the seven, but includes some of the most fun and loving people we had the pleasure of laughing with.

While we had met Danny the night before, it wasn't until Friday afternoon that the synergy really kicked in. With the introduction of Kevin, previously in the NFL, and Lauren, the coolest girl in NYC now that Alex has moved to Long Island, the crew was put together. Danny seemed to call the plays, Kevin led in running them, Jon ran in front wearing down the defense, Doug hammered the ball through the line, Lauren in the cheer section kept us all motivated, Brad took 'em by surprise with his sneak plays, and well, I just did my best to pick up fumbles and maybe fill in for one of the others on an as needed basis when he or she got lost in the cheers of the crowd. All time offense.

But somehow we were rockstars. Perhaps this perception is partially alcohol induced, but I've been inebriated before, and this was different. Something about the seven of us lit up the world around us. From the moment we walked in to a bar, people wanted to be part of us. Rooms full of immediate best friends. Everyone taking pictures, waitresses doing shots, guys raising glasses, barbacks working double-time to wash glasses, and bartenders celebrating. We were IT. From 30th and 3rd to Hoboken to Chelsea, we left in our wake a lasting image.

We could do anything. The amount of confidence grew and grew. And at no point did it become arrogance. There was never a better-than-thou attitude. No, instead, the more confidence we got, the more amazing everyone else seemed. We loved EVERYONE. Guys, girls, Americans, foreigners, outgoing, introverted, lovers, and even haters (I think there was only one, from Princeton, by the way).

It wasn't just about us, it was about EVERYONE.

Living on thousands of calories of alcohol, a couple hundred from the food we could stomach, and a few short hours of sleep a night, we ran the most inebriated weekend of my life. And it was glorious. And while Brother Jimmy's was incredible, it only picked up momentum from there. That place down the street from Danny's. That other place down the street from Danny's. That place that starts with Green. That place after the place that starts with Green.

That place in Chelsea near the Pink Elephant. The Pink Elephant. Flashes, shots, eyes, foggers, laughter, dancing, fist pumping, singing, hugging, more flashes, gloves, hair, plaid, tattoos, bouncers, credit cards, ATMs, more shots, phone numbers, a whirlwind of highs and highers, bottles, tables, thousands and thousands of dollars. More laughter. More laughter. And more laughter.

Love.

Part 3: Awesomeness. And in the end, more than just memories and amazing friends from coast to coast. More importantly, for me anyway, a change. A change in the way I view strangers. A change in the way I experience new friends. A new openness to people I've never had before. A new understanding of myself - an awareness of the love I can experience in any place in life, whether in a shack in Latin America or a club in New York City. So much of life exists, and I can love it all. I find myself chatting with the guy selling tickets for the IMax theatre. I find myself hugging a stranger at a bar, joining into groups that aren't mine in favor of the people I went with. I find myself - open. To the world.

Perhaps it seems superficial, and god knows it was. But in the end it left a deeper, meaningful impression. I feel like in spite of being a child for the weekend, I gained a little wisdom, a little maturity, and found just a little more of me. And for that, I am just thankful.

And I still can't stop laughing.

Pessimism and Courage

2010-01-04T17:45:00.000-08:00

I'm reading a book given to me by a dear dear friend, Stumbling on Happiness. That's the name of the book, not the friend. It's brilliant and brilliantly written, I suggest it to everyone. But I wanted to start with a passage that was particularly concerning - and exciting - to me last week. It seems that the author at one point makes the argument that people tend to get actual happiness today from delayed gratification. He points to a scientific study where people were told they won a free steak dinner, and then asked whether they would like the steak dinner right away, or whether they would prefer to wait for a bit. Generally, people wanted to wait. And he argues that this is because people literally get pleasure from thinking about the future. And generally, people imagine the future to be filled with wonder and happiness. Of course, not for all of us, but for most he says.

And then it occurs to me - holy shit - it's NEVER that way for me. And that's a frightening thought! I can't remember the time I REALLY looked forward to something. Sure, I look forward to eating when I'm hungry, or using the bathroom on road trips, but I couldn't remember a time that I was really excited about something in at LEAST the last year!

No, instead, when something exciting comes up, I feel a rush of excitedness and eager anticipation, but by the time it actually comes around, somehow I've gone from "I can't wait" to "God I don't want to do this." Even things that I should REALLY look forward to - like a first date or a roadtrip to NYC with some friends for New Year's Eve (we'll get there) - I actually start to dread as I get closer. Instead of concentrating on the new experiences that await, or the fun I'm going to have hanging with my boys from Oklahoma in a wild new environment, I'm trying to figure out how and when would be most appropriate for me to come home.

Yeah, and that's it. My heart can't wait, and so I commit, and then my head takes over, basically says it's going to be miserable, and I wish that I can get out of it, and frequently come up with strategies to do so.

But I don't. Isn't THAT amazing? I DON'T! In spite of my head telling me how miserable I am going to be trapped in South America with no money, no friends, and lackluster Spanish speaking skills, I GO! And I cancel my return flight. And I keep heading south on busses, further and further away from safety. I go on the date, and I force myself into the Metro to go meet friends for the roadtrip north. I fly out to San Francisco to see some of the most important people in my life.

When I moved to Costa 15 months ago, a lot of people told me I had courage. They were wrong. I didn't overcome anything to move to Costa. My mind had finally shut the hell up for a bit, and let me go. I didn't fly down in the face of certain death, I flew down in the face of certain success! How sweet that was! For perhaps the first time in my life, I was doing things that I couldn't WAIT to do!

But then something happened. I went back. Perhaps the misery of the first couple months when I became unexpectedly alone taught my mind a lesson. Perhaps not. But something happened. The dark side returned. And excitement - anticipation - for life vanished. Somewhere. Somehow.

But I LOVE life! I mean, I HATE the future, but the actual minutes of my life - I LOVE. Ask me and I'll tell you! I love today. I love this minute. I smile at freaking everything. Even in pain, I love life. Even when things have gone horribly wrong, like Saturday around mid-day, I laugh! Even while vomiting in a public toilet at a restaurant across the street, I smile! (Too much?) Yeah, as it turns out, I LOVE the present.

But somehow I started dreading the future again. I have to force myself to go to bed because the morning seems so treacherous. Even on days when I have nothing but fun planned, I have trouble getting out of bed because of all the dire thoughts. But I do. Every day I walk through that door. Every day I overcome. For me, moving to Costa wasn't courageous, but I recognize now that, in spite of my dire outlook, I am ridiculously courageous. No, BECAUSE of my dire outlook, I am FORCED to be ridiculously courageous. EVERY DAY I walk through that door, in spite of the fact I have convinced myself there is a fire on the other side. EVERY day. And it's EXHAUSTING.

But there's light. I see now. I can see what I'm doing to myself. I can see that I'm imagining fire where there's nothing but water. And, while it's only been a few days, perhaps there's even some improvement. Perhaps this knowledge that I have LOVED life every time I thought I was sure to be miserable, I recognize that my future as I have seen it is FAR from reality. And maybe again it won't take courage to walk out that front door. Maybe I'll be giddy again for a first date. Maybe I won't have to drag myself to Jersey kicking and screaming all the way.

I just experienced the most fun I have ever had in a four day period. Not the highest QUALITY four days, I guess, but in terms of purely outrageous, alcohol induced hedonistic FUN, this weekend won. Hands down. I'll probably give more details in the next post - when I can sort through and decide which pictures won't get me arrested. The guys (and girl) we tore up the towns with, the girls (and, sure, guys) at the bars we set on fire (bars on fire, not girls), the drinks, the laughter, the PAIN in the mornings, the LAUGHTER, the confidence, the attraction, the dancing and singing and screaming and hugging and kissing and high fives and freaking Brad breakdancing! I mean, SHIT!

On this weekend, I think I started to turn a page. Maybe not even this weekend, but something feels different TODAY. Something seems to be missing. Some voice of dread seems like it's not there. Maybe it was just the alcohol killing what little ability I have left to reason, or maybe this is real. Maybe, just maybe, I can start to enjoy the future again. Maybe I can love the unexpected tomorrow. Maybe.

I'm already looking forward to seeing if I can, which is a damn fine start.

Right Now - 26/12/09 4:26 PM

2009-12-26T13:26:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting on my bed, if you can call it that, on Capitol Hill in Washington, DC. And just now, I decided to start writing again. I've decided not to advertise that I am writing, but instead let people find it, if they do, and if not, that's okay too. But for now, this blog is for me. It's my private diary, in a way, made public. It's me being as honest as I can to myself, but keeping myself in check, still diving into reasons I might not share. This is my life, again, as best as I can record it, in only the ways I want it recorded. This time it will be for me.

I've been reading a book about "Buddhist Psychology" given to me by Margo, my ex-girlfriend's mother, after finishing Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol yesterday. I chose to spend this Christmas alone, and believe me, it's lonely. I think, in the end, I'm fundamentally lonely. I question why I've done so much separation lately, and I think it's because I don't feel like I fit in and I feel weak. With the combination of the two, I don't follow myself, but instead lose myself and follow others.

I think I did a good job of that in Costa Rica, eventually being too distant from myself to even enjoy the sunset without thinking about what people were thinking about me at that time. I drank more and more, surfed more and more, and frankly had a great time - but didn't connect with myself.

And I started waiting. I sat by idly, positive that the next "it" would come along and sweep me off of my feet. But it didn't.

And so I waited. I kept options open. I came back to Oklahoma for the wedding, and brought all of my stuff, but left Jake. I wanted to be ready when "it" came. I kept moving - horseback riding in Moab and Aspen; hanging with Kris in Denver; a weekend trip to see my beloved friends in San Francisco. But it didn't come.

In San Francisco I finally decided to move back to Costa. It had been far too long since I had seen Jake, and the states were getting colder. I wasn't welcome anymore where I had been staying, rightfully so. I hadn't started working. And damnit, I missed the surf. I missed my Costa Rican family. At the very least, in Costa people don't judge. They are generally all just wonderful and supportive. And as long as I was waiting for "it," I might as well be surrounded by love and waves.

But something was missing. I'd been waiting at this point for perhaps five months, and nothing. Now, I had had some amazing adventures: Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Colorado, California, Oklahoma - mountains and beaches, snow and surf. But it was all just killing time. It was all just waiting until it came around. And in the meantime, waiting for Hazel to be born, and for Christmas to come around. All waiting.

And then Megan found out I had planned on moving back to Costa. Before I could buy my return ticket, she forced me in the car to go to Doug's office so she could sign some papers. It took the two of them in Doug's conference room for me to realize - I found it.

It was right here. It is right here. I had just been to blind to see! My purpose, my meaning in life, my everything was right here before my eyes! So simple! It is...

Wait... Taking a step back, the biggest part of my problem was not that I was lazy - certainly my life's adventures showed I was willing to get up off of my ass. No, my biggest "problem" was that I could find no reason to do anything. In a way, my journey had taken away all purpose, all meaningfulness. I now no longer saw "good" and "bad" - I just saw things as they were. I definitely saw suffering, but it was far beyond me how I could alleviate it, and if I could, whether that was a worthwhile endeavor. I knew I had found nothing worth teaching, because what I had actually found was just that - nothing.

And so I had become, well, dormant. Nothing mattered, so why should I do anything?

But then it hit me. When faced with no meaning in life, when faced with no purpose, there are two roads. The first, which I had been on, is to despair. To sit idly and stare at the world. Wait. Which was horrible. But in that little office, it hit me. In a way, what I had been waiting for came. It.

Purpose. Meaning. Life. It.

So simple! And here it is. Without it, there can be no other purpose, no other meaning, no other reason for living than to search for it. It, for me, right now, simply put, is the search for it.

Oh, but don't think for a second I need to find it! Because I already have. I don't need to find anything, because it's right here. But what I do need to do is search. Because the search is my purpose.

Perhaps some day that purpose will change. Perhaps I will find another it in this search. And when I do, this it will become the it of the past. Perhaps not. Perhaps I will confine myself to the search for it for the rest of my life. And that will be wonderful too.

And so I sit. Alone. On this unmade bed with Jake on the floor by my side. Many have asked if I have found it yet on my search. They ask whether working for "the man" in Washington is part of it. They ask whether closing down Nova with Doug is the it I was waiting for. How much people want me to be something other than who I am. My answer is "yes." I have found it. Yes, working here in Washington is part of it. Yes, having ridiculous, sinful fun is part of it. Christmas alone. Pain, pleasure. Happiness, sadness. It's all part of it. Learning thai, relearning SPSS, talking politics with fascists, sweeping the floor, throwing snowballs at Jake.

Am I satisfied? Not really. But at least I have found purpose again. Am I following it at all costs? Absolutely not. And I'm not any happier. In fact, I'm probably sadder. I'm practicing. I'm warming up. I'm stretching.

It's all part of it.

Last Post

2009-09-21T15:11:00.000-07:00

This will be my final post, at least for some time. I find that blogging limits my freedom to be authentic, and so I'm going to stop it.

Free Will

2009-09-15T15:32:00.000-07:00

Don't read this if you are really interested in seeing Angels and Demons or reading the book. This doesn't spoil the ending, but I describe a scene at the end which may ruin it for some of you.

I finished watching the movie Angels and Demons the other day, which I downloaded from the internet to my computer and watched on this beautiful afternoon from a hammock on my porch here in Costa Rica. At the very end, the cardinal that was in charge of the enclave says, "Thanks be to God for sending you to save our church." Dr. Langdon replies, "You know I don't believe that he sent me." And the cardinal says, "Oh my son, of course he did." The newly elected pope is then shown giving Dr. Langdon a nod and before being presented to the awaiting public.

I think what got me more than anything is the lack of appreciation shown directly to Dr. Langdon. He was given a small gift by the cardinal, and only a nod by the new pope. It's as if it awakened a part of me that I had lost in the past few months. The cardinal and pope did not thank Dr. Langdon because they do not believe Dr. Langdon had a choice in the matter. Dr. Langdon was just doing as God had determined. And interestingly, I feel the same way - or at least have felt the same way, but have recently forgotten.

Part of my spiritual transformation has been giving up the sense of control. At the retreat I went to in Northern California, they have a saying that "everyone is at fault, but nobody is to blame." Basically, it's an understanding that because a person is made up of his experiences, genetics, education, one can not give blame to that individual for any action. Any negativity in the world is caused by something we have learned, some reaction that is not of our own making but instead some process or pattern that lives inside of us, but is not us. If I get angry because you are late, I am at fault for my anger, but I am not to blame for my anger because it is a pattern I learned perhaps from my parents as a child when I witnessed my mother getting angry at my father for being tardy. I was not in control in that reaction, but instead that pattern that lives in me was in control, and therefore I can not accept the blame.

So, that's a concept that's relatively easy for me to grasp. But can we then take credit for positives? The cardinal and the pope both seemed to believe a human can not take credit for even extraordinary actions. Our lives are in the hands of God, and we can not take credit for something over which we have no control. And I agree! I believe we are all acting as humans, through learned responses over which we don't have control, or on behalf of our spirits, which I don't see as separate or individualized. Really, I feel our differences are human, but are spirits are all one. Individually, therefore, we actually have no control, and therefore no blame or credit. Blame for negativity can be given to the collective human experience, and credit for positivity can be given to the collective spirit.

Really, this is a discussion of an individual's free will, and it also touches on responsibility, I guess. I tend to believe that things happen the only way that they can, but I still believe in free will. When looking backwards, it's easy to see that there was only one way possible, because the past can not be changed. It happened in just the one way it could have. But when looking at the present, I still have the feeling of free will. Very strange.

But because I look at the past and recognize that things happened the only way that they could, and tend to believe nobody is to blame or deserves credit, I find it very easy to forgive (I never really even have to as I don't really assign blame) and I have gratitude not to individuals but to the universe as a whole.

For everyone, that is, except for myself. I find it a lot easier to take blame and credit away from others than I find it to take away from myself. I am struggling with decisions right now that seem enormously important, and I act as if my choice will be judged at some point in the future as good or bad - and I too will be judged based upon my choices. And I'm pretty sure I know who that judge will be - because I have had feelings overwhelming guilt lately - judging my past actions as if they could have somehow been different than they were. Hating myself despite the fact that I was blind. Acting as if I know good and bad - acting like I can see clearly now. Pain instead of compassion. Hate instead of love.

I guess it's time to find my way back to love.

I'm the voice of one crying in the wilderness...

2009-09-13T15:14:00.000-07:00

This blog started as a "Right Now," so hence the picture. Please forgive me.

Ahh, Sunday. Much like Saturday. And Friday. All the days seem to be just the same right about now. Surfing, reading, watching. I feel like I'm waiting, but don't have anything to wait for.

I've thought a lot about writing some of the things I've found interesting in the New Testament. There's so much, though, and I certainly don't want to make this blog too much about religion or Jesus. I'm now almost done with the four gospels. I would say that if there are three things I have found in the Bible so far, that are that:

The accounts of Jesus don't show someone that is all love, forgiveness, and hope. In fact, Jesus is frequently vengeful. He's quoted as saying "If you're not with me, you're against me." (Obviously I'm not quoting directly, because old English is silly, kinda like England English today. Just silly.) He tells his disciples at one point to shake the dust off of their shoes when leaving towns that don't accept them as a sign for Jesus to send them to hell when he returns. In a couple of the gospels, he's quoted as saying "How long must I suffer thee?" Another - "I come not to send peace, but a sword." Sheesh! Throughout all of the gospels, people fear Jesus and God, even when he has saved a life or cured blindness. Don't get me wrong, I am sure that he is far more compassionate than the vast majority in his time (in John they try to stone him at least twice without any type of trial). He has some wonderful loving things to say. But he still preaches fear and hatred as a stick behind the carrot of heaven. "But those mine enemies, which would not that I should reign over them, bring hither, and slay them before me." Of course, followed a few pages later with "Forgive them, for they know not what they do." Confusing, right?
It's incredibly inconsistent. Not just between gospels, but actually within them. For example, in just Luke, Jesus is quoted as saying both "If you're not with me, you're against me" AND "If you're not against me, you're with me." Two totally different positions, one far more compassionate and inclusive than the other. When Jesus dies on the cross, it's written that he either cries out asking God why God has forsaken him (yeah, amazing, right?), or instead cries out asking God to take him. I think one can find some good morals of the story in the gospels, but I find it really hard to base one's life morality on such contradictions.
Jesus has some really bad parables. Some are REALLY bad. He says he uses parables so that the blind can see. While his disciples may be able to understand his direct speech, parables help those who don't have the ability to understand like his disciples. I actually dig this - it's as if they're meant to get around the intellect and into the subconscious. Oddly, though, after almost every parable, Jesus has to explain the parable to his disciples. And some of them flat out don't make sense. On the other hand, one in particular struck me - A householder hires some men, and agrees to pay them a penny for a day's work. Throughout the day, he continues to hire men, still agreeing to pay them a penny to work for that day. At the end of the day, the people hired first in the morning are upset because the people that were hired later in the day received the same amount of compensation despite not working as long as those that started in the morning. The householder's response is perfect: "Is thine eye evil, because I am good?" It definitely beats the parable about throwing seeds to the wayside, on a rock, in thorns, and on good ground, which doesn't help illustrate a point at all and makes you wonder why he didn't just say what he meant in the first place.

Wow, I find myself going back and adding more and more. Maybe I should dedicate a blog to the Bible. Or write a book about it. Nobody's ever done that. I guess what I am finding is that Jesus was far from perfect. He was a man, whether the son of God or not. That's one of the things my mom loves about Jesus, and I guess we all have to accept. In the end, I guess we're all human.

In the end, there are some wonderful parts of the Bible. John has definitely been my favorite of the gospel writers, as he has a very poetic way of following the story, and he also shows a more human side of Jesus in his friendship with Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. He's also got a great sense of humor, like when one future disciple asks "Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth?" when he first hears that the Son of God has come from Nazareth. I feel the same about Texas. Jesus even jokes around with Nathanael when Nathanael first believes Jesus is the Son of God simply because Jesus saw Nathanael under a fig tree at one point. There are some beautiful quotes, such as:

"No prophet is accepted in his own country."
"For what is a man advantaged, if he gain the whole world, and lose himself."
Oh, this isn't really a great quote, but I find it really funny. Any time someone seeks revenge on someone else, regret of that person comes in the form of "weeping and gnashing teeth." It's all over the gospels.
"Forgive them, for they know not what they do."
"I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness." AWESOME, right? Obviously that's from John. I want to write a book and entitle it that. I am going to go move to a cabin in the woods somewhere and do that now. MAN, I love that quote.
"The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is everyone that is born of the Spirit."

I just wrote a long paragraph about being directionless and still searching for meaning, but erased it. I am just using words that make it seem like I am lost, and so I'm believing I am lost. Really, I'm just not inclined to move in a certain direction today. Here is just fine. My mind is trying to figure shit out. It's trying to figure out what is best for me, when it doesn't have any way of every knowing. It needs to chill. I'm missing home (the Oklahoma one) a lot. I'm missing Kris a lot. And those emotions are making it harder on my mind to step back and concern itself with the execution, not with the policy. I need to chill. Pressure certainly won't get me anywhere. I hear the sound, but can't tell from where it comes, or where it goes.

In any event, I'm excited as hell to go home in a couple of weeks. I can't wait to see Megan with her big ole belly. I'm really looking forward to seeing Ryan and spending more time with him while he still looks like a peanut (does he?). Family, friends, even Neil. I'm a little nervous about seeing Kris, too, who I guess I'll see at the wedding. Actually, I'm really excited about it. Not sure if she'll want to chat or even say hi, but I hope so. If not, that's okay too. I guess. I'm looking forward to taking Aaron on in Golden Tee. And having a scotch with Terry. And maybe dinner at Mamasita's with Douggie. Wonder if I'll get the chance to watch the Sooners with sooner fans for the first time in, geez, a year?

And then? Who knows. Maybe I'll head off to the wilderness for a month or many and write a book, or just watch my thoughts. Maybe I'll find a way to travel to Africa. Maybe I'll come back to my family in Costa. Maybe I'll find that it's time for the mountains. Or maybe it's time to spend some time at home and suck on some candy canes in December.

For now though, I'm loving the waves on the longest vacation of my life. It's hard to feel sorry for myself when I'm surrounded by such beauty - flowers, sun, beach, ocean, amazing people, Jake, sunsets. It's all wonderful.

Weeping and gnashing teeth. Ha!

10 Days in Review

2009-09-12T18:31:00.000-07:00

As my mom has probably noticed (and Kent too, who I haven't heard from in YEARS), I haven't blogged in a while. So, like cheesy 80's movies - such as Rocky - I am going to do a montage to catch us all up.

Okay, got home. Check.

Interlude - the loudest cricket EVER is doing his thing right now. Seriously, it's deafening. Sorry, you're probably not interested.

Right, so got home. Nothing happened. I found myself surfing, reading the Bible, and watching US Open tennis. I'm living with a guy who seems to always be watching tennis. And so when I am not surfing or reading, I find myself watching tennis. And I get into it sometimes. There's a really cute girl who's name starts with W that is doing well. That's my US Open tennis update.

Okay, the Full Moon Party happened. My friend, Lee, who watches tennis, DJ'd the party, and was absolutely awesome. Had oldschool turntables, played a very eclectic mix ranging from funk to, well, something a long way away from funk. It was super fun. And I don't want to tell on the town or anything, but someone showed up with a bunch of mushroom tea, and a good portion of the town had a least a few gulps. Of course, I didn't. But, I did end up in a pink wig, wearing a dress, going commando, while dancing behind (and on - yeah) the bar. But I repeat, I did not have any mushroom tea. Here's a pic of Jenny spinning some fire, one of three roommates at the turntables, and a picture for your enjoyment and future blackmail or extortion if I decide to run for office.

Okay, other things: Scott, Randall, Sean, Shilka, and I watched Costa Rica lose to freaking some team in blue the other day in the World Cup qualifiers. While the game doesn't mean a whole lot to me personally, and I generally don't like watching a lot of soccer, we had an absolute blast (at least until the freaking blue team scored in the 90th minute). It's fun when you decide to just go all out in cheering. Here's a pic of us having fun.

Jeni's gone again. That's sad for me, but she'll be back in a few months. It's kinda strange just not having her around, as she was kinda my go to friend to do pretty much anything. I'm very much getting used to people coming and going. There are actually very few people in town these days.

I bought a new board! Down to a 6'4"! Which is strange, because I am actually considering going back to Oklahoma for an extended period to regroup. We'll see.

There's a great surf tournament going on in Oeste this weekend! Gilbert Brown, Jason Torres, and our hometown hero Cali are all competing, as are some good amateur friends that are just enjoying the waves and surfing with these guys that you have probably never heard of. Today was absolutely beautiful. Jake and I spent most of the day watching the competition, hoping to catch some waves late, but never got around to it.

Oh, yesterday though, Jake beat the break and swam around our boards for an hour as Pat, Brett, and I surfed some nice waves out front. Every 20 minutes or so I invited Jake to take a break and climb on my board with me (I borrowed a longboard). I'll need a special board, but Jake will surf within the next two weeks. Mark my words. Here's a picture of Jake at the tournament today, so you all know he's still alive.

I'm ridiculously tan. Nobody has ever been tanner than me. All of the ticos look yellow next to me. Two months of vacation in Costa Rica does this to people. Oh, and I don't think I have swine flu. It seems it's just a coincidence. Or is it?

Okay, that's all I got now. There's some US Open tennis on that requires my attention. Has anyone seen my razor?

Do I Have Swine Flu?

2009-09-07T18:02:00.000-07:00

Umm, so, the President of Costa Rica got swine flu just before I left for Colombia. The President of Colombia got swine flu just before I left Colombia. And NOW, after just leaving Ecuador, the Head of Security for the President of Ecuador has died of H1N1.

Sheesh.

Relying on Intuition

2009-09-06T08:49:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine, Erik, who went to the same retreat as I several years before me writes a daily quote on his facebook account from his home in Aspen. They pop up on my wall, and I read them from time to time. Anyway, today's I really liked. It's the concept I have been trying to express for the past year and a half since I decided to start making decisions not from an intellectual position, but instead from my spirit. Anyway, here's the quote:

"Whenever we need to make a very important decision, it is best to trust to impulse, to passion, because reason usually tries to remove us from our dream, saying that the time is not yet right. Reason is afraid of defeat, but intuition enjoys life and its challenges." - Paulo Coelho

Coelho, of course, wrote The Alchemist, which is a book I have written about here several times. How much easier it seems for us to make intellectual decisions than face our fears and make intuitive decisions that may at first seem irrational. If you are unable to trust your intuition, and need a rational reason to do so, read Blink. Our intuition is so much smarter than our intellect, and takes into account so much more than our conscious minds ever could. Use your intellect, body, and emotions to gather all of the information you can before making a decision, but then rely on your intuition to make the decision, and your use your intellect only to execute.

By the way, another quote from Erik's wall:

"Surrender is faith that the power of love can accomplish anything... even when you can not foresee the outcome." - Deepak Chopra

Vago

2009-09-04T07:35:00.001-07:00

WARNING: THIS GETS PREACHY.

So, I had an interesting conversation with a friend a few days ago in Peru. I just like saying that. A few days ago, in Peru, I was talking to this friend... Anyway, Marion accused me of being lazy. And, of course, I am. So she's spot on. But it got me thinking about this term that we use, and the ways in which we use it.

Dictionary.com defines lazy as "adverse or disinclined to work, activity, or exertion." Don't you love the word "disinclined," by the way? But back to lazy. Marion was accusing me of being lazy because I don't want to get a job. I would prefer to not have a job. Which isn't really true, though. I would love to have someone pay me - it's really just that I don't want to do things outside of what I want to do to make that money. And so, really, I just don't want to do things that I don't want to do. When Marion met me, I was actually doing a lot! I was traveling throughout South America. In the days we spent together I went for several swims, I played a lot of ping pong, I got up one morning at 6:30 to catch some early waves and have a two session day, I ate ceviche for breakfast and bought fruits I'd never had to make juice, I had new and unique conversations with perfect strangers about laziness. And yet I was being accused of being lazy because I don't have a job!

And I've noticed this everywhere, really. If you're not doing something you don't want to do - you're lazy! How backwards are we? Instead of aspiring to do only what we want to do, and commending those that have reached that stage for whatever reason, we use a derogatory term to refer to those that get to do what they want to do, and we compliment those that neglect themselves in order to make money or keep their status quo.

So, as I sit here in beautiful Costa Rica, jobless, eating some canned pork and beans for breakfast, thinking about going for a late morning surf session after I make some travel arrangements to fly back to my home state to see the most wonderful people in the world (not you Neil), I have decided to change our use of the word lazy. From now on, anyone who is disinclined to follow what they really want to do because they are too afraid of getting outside of their comfortable little work-sleep box I will call lazy. And for those of you that are out there, doing the things that they have always wanted to do, taking opportunities and truly seizing the day, I will commend you. Stop reading other people's blogs, following news stories about other people, or facebook stalking an ex-boyfriend. Go live your life!

I don't mean that you're lazy if you get paid - of course not! You're not even lazy if you get paid doing something you don't want to do. But you're a lazy SOB if you are neglecting yourself because you don't want to exert the energy after work to find a sailboat for a sunset cruise, or if you're too afraid of what your friends would think if you got up to dance, or if you're too afraid of rejection to even introduce yourself to that guy at the other end of the bar. Snap out of it. Don't turn on that TV tonight. Go home and make a delicious dinner for you and your wife. And pick up some flowers on the way. When you feel like you should do something, do it. Stop procrastinating. Just go do it. Pick up some paint and throw it on a wall or on a canvass. Stop waiting to live your life. Live it now.

That got a little preachy for a Tuesday morning. I think I'll put on some pants and make myself a smoothie to wash down those beans. That's what I really want to do right now.

Las Lajas

2009-09-03T14:10:00.000-07:00

So, the virgin Mary appeared on a sheer rock canyon face a couple hundred feet above the river below near the town of Ipiales, Colombia. And the Catholic church decided to commemorate the apparition with an absolutely beautiful church, built right on the sheer rock wall. And they called it Las Lajas, which literally translated means The Lajas.

The place is stunning. Breathtaking, really. I visited it while waiting for the bus in Ipiales (it's only about 10km away). A particularly interesting part of the church is that the rock faces surrounding the church are filled with hundred of plaques giving thanks to Mary from families all around Colombia and Ecuador. I took a lot of pictures at first, but then just went in and, well, prayed. Not really to anyone, but just did a check in, and kinda talked to myself. And I actually felt very peaceful. And here's where I get strange - so brace yourself.

At the retreat I went to in Northern California, we did a lot of visualizations. In many of our visualizations, we visualize a certain previously unknown person who is our "spiritual guide," who helps us stay on our spiritual paths. Each person visualizes his spiritual guide differently, and nobody actively chooses how to visualize his spiritual guide. The guide just kinda comes to us. It's been over a year and a half since the retreat, and so I know how strange this sounds to people, but this visioning helps enormously in my ability myself and be authentic. My spiritual guide, for example, is named Emily, and looks a lot like the Liv Tyler playing the elven princess in the Lord of the Rings. Again, I didn't choose this, she's just who came. In my visualizations, I frequently ask her questions, ask for her help, or just listen to her and what she has to say. I bet Liv would find that strange. I think I may have just lost a lot of friends by sharing this, but anyway...

While in the Lajas cathedral, I went into a visualization, and to my surprise, my spiritual guide came to me appearing as Mary. And it was really interesting to me how similar Mary was to Emily. Almost identical, actually. Now, I don't believe in the Christian god, nor do I believe Jesus was any more a son of god than I am. But there was something very soothing about Mary. In her appearance to me, and in the images of her throughout the world, Mary is very much the personification of love. In the statues around the church and the painting above the alter, Mary always has the look of compassion, understanding, and acceptance. The same that has been provided to me by Emily. And I felt at peace, there in the church dedicated to Mary, as Mary approached in place of my spiritual guide.

Doesn't she kind resemble the virgin Mary?

And I now better understand the thousands of plaques giving thanks to Mary. I guess to millions of Christians around the world, Mary is much like my Emily - a source of unconditional love and a guide to stay on that path of love. And for me, Mary's very much become the same - her image now serving as a reminder to me of that compassion and acceptance which I so often lose connection with.

Thank God only my mother reads this blog.

Looks Like I'll Make It

2009-08-31T17:17:00.000-07:00

I ran into a little problem on the border between Ecuador and Colombia, and thought I just might not make it. Turns out that when I went to Immigration at the Ecuadorian border, the Ecuadorian side did not stamp my passport nor register that I was back in the country. Which made me illegal. Which means against the law. On the Peruvian border, the immigration officer told me I didn't need another one, because I still have time on my old stamp. It seemed strange, sure, but it was the middle of the night, I was mostly asleep, and I was trying to deal at the same time with an Israeli who didn't get an exit from Peru and desperately needed my help with translation.

SO, today, when I showed up to check out of Ecuador, they said that they had to turn me in for being in the country illegally. And that it costs a lot to get out of a situation like that. They said $200.

So, the negotiation starts at $200. But here's the deal - as you may have seen in my last post, I ain't got no $200. I don't have $2. Or do I?

I pleaded. I begged in spanish, and I said again and again how I didn't have any money. I told them I had just enough to get to Cali and pay my exit tax. I told them how I couldn't even afford a place to stay tonight, or I wouldn't be able to get out of Colombia. And I BEGGED.

But it didn't work. They held my passport. They wouldn't return it. So finally, I said to the guy, okay. He took me to the back room. There, I told him that I could part with $10, and that's it. Really that's it. I haven't eaten in the past 36 hours because of my stomach, which has saved me some cash. And so $10 I could actually afford. And he agreed that it was enough to pay my fine. Note: It absolutely was to pay a legitimate fine, and was in no way a bribe. At no time have I ever or will I ever offer bribes to government officials in any country, nor would the fine people at the Ecuadorian migration office accept one.

Bastards.

And so he gave me my passport. And he gave me an exit stamp (which will be interesting to see what happens next time I go to Ecuador with two exits and only one entrance).

BUT, I'm on my way. I'm back in Colombia, the place of my birth. I'm hanging out in the border town of Ipiales for a couple of hours, waiting for a late enough bus to get me into Cali in at least some daylight. I just ate a quarter chicken - my first meal in 36 hours. It was awesome, and my stomach seems like it might handle it. I also haven't had any water. I had to be on busses for 7 hours or so, with no toilets, so I didn't want to upset and potential balance I had in my belly. And I made it. I'm getting on another bus in an hour or so, and should be in Cali as the sun rises. I'm legal, I've got enough cash to get out of the country, and I've got a ticket that will get me damn close to the airport. All of these things were weighing on my mind as I left Quito (those and the little stomach problems I was having) - and now I can just relax, get some water, and enjoy the cruise north.

REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK TO COSTA!

Right Now - 29/8/09 3:47 PM

2009-08-30T13:47:00.001-07:00

Right, well, I guess I didn't learn my lesson about the food. Or maybe it was taking a shot of scorpion infused firewater. Or maybe it is just life. But I'm sick again. This time no fever yet, but man my stomach is messed up. But I look pretty tough with this bruise/gash on my face from two nights ago. I look like I could mess you up. But I can't. Not with these dainty wrists.

I'm in Quito. I got here at 4:00 AM this morning. I'm sick of getting places in the middle of the night, really. I got here, not feeling great, and I was a bit stressed. I took city busses all the way from the South end of Quito to the airport in the north. I still didn't have a return flight, and the phone was difficult for two reasons: 1) I don't have the money to both make the phone calls AND make it to the flight; and 2) Copa airlines is retarded. Maybe they're drunk.

Anyway, after passing the airport, and then coming back to it, I finally determined that the central office of Copa, in downtown Quito, is the only office that can help me. AND - they don't open until Monday. So, I decided to make my way back to old town on some busses to try to find a place to rest, and perhaps find some internet so I can call Copa in the US for free on Skype.

Right, well, after stealing another $50 from mom's credit card without her permission, I got a flight (thanks Mom) from the phone here at my hostel (Secret Garden in Old Quito). And I don't have to go all the way to Bogota, which I can't tell you how good that is. Here's the situation - I don't have the money to BOTH go to Bogota AND pay my departure tax. I've done some studying online to tell me what my departure tax is, and while the answer varies widely, it seems like it's about $30. I've got $50 and about $50 in pesos (Colombian variety). The pesos should get me to Cali and leave approximately $25. That leaves $5 I have to pay from my US cash. I'll have to pay $8 to get to Colombia. I'll have to pay $20 for lodging tonight, dinner tonight, and breakfast this morning and tomorrow morning. Four meals between breakfast tomorrow and my flight (assuming two meals a day), each at $4, is $16. That leaves me with - wait for it - $1. $1 when I get on the plane. Wow. WOW. Wow. Wow. Let's hope the tax isn't $32. Maybe I can make it without dinner tonight.

Regardless, in spite of my stomach and my absolutely horrendous money planning - both worldly concerns, I know - I'm in good spirits. Mom, I got some pedialyte at the pharmacy, so I'll get all my electrolytes back. I'm going to go lay down and watch a movie. Haven't done that in a while.

OH! On the stairs between the first and second floors is a quote from Einstein, which I felt was right in line with Steve's comment the other day. I never think about the future - it comes soon enough.

Montanita - Meaning: Awesome

2009-08-29T14:22:00.000-07:00

So, I guess what I really needed was just to get silly drunk. And by silly drunk, I mean stupid drunk. And by stupid drunk, I mean retarded drunk. Awesome. Let’s see some highlights:

Rum and cokes to start at the hostel with the leftover rum from Alausi that has crossed the Peruvian border – twice.
Pizza and beer dinner with three Canadians and four German girls.
“Flaming Ecuador” shots with the gang. The bartender rewarded me with a shot from a bottle filled with aguardiente and, get this, scorpions. Not kidding you. Oh, he set it on fire for me too.

Morning after with the bottle of scorpions.

A serious danceoff – shirtless – with a local black guy for the affection of three Ecuadorian women.

I won.

Girls giving me lots of drinks - they drank free so they kept putting their straws to my mouth. In spite of David's warning, I consumed. And upon waking up - I still have my corneas. No lesson learned there.
Mostly naked (all male) swimming with the Canadians in a pool at the bar. Nobody joined us. My boxer shorts have huge holes in them. Locals took note.

A dog fight in the bar, followed by an “I got this,” and me joining the dog fight in an attempt to bite them back.
Another dance off, this time involving the “worm” and a kick to my face - seriously. And this time on stage. And this time soaking wet after our swim. This is when I became legendary, I think.

Bloody face from the kick, and a bloody lip from an Ecuadorian girl with a biting fetish.
How does one lose a SOCK at a bar? And just one!
Awesomeness.

I’m on the bus on the way to Puerto Lopez, and it’s absolutely beautiful loking over the beaches from up on this small mountain.

I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun in one night. I think it was Fred’s party with the pink boa back in Marchish. I had a blast with the Germans and the Canadians, and felt like life-long friends. This afternoon, as I was heading to the bus stop, a local that I did not know at all saw me passing and said, “Brian! Estas saliendo? Puedes quedar aqui!” In other words, people know me. I’m kind of a big deal.

So, that was fun. It’s hard leaving all the time though. But now I’m heading to Quito if I can. I still don’t have a flight home (that’s a long story), but I think I’ll try just going to the airport in Quito and seeing if they can help me there. If not, I’ll head on to Colombia I guess, and figure it out there.

Oh, I'm ridiculously low on money. Maybe I can sell this Bible.

Right Now - 28 Aug 1:30 PM

2009-08-28T11:34:00.000-07:00

Chilling at an intenet cafe in Montanita. I'm just not feeling good about it here. Strange. The town itself is unattractive to me. It's mostly mud roads and construction. Not a lot of open space to just chill, other than on the beach. It's heavily overcast, and a little too chilly for the beach. Surfing doesn't really look like an option today.

I've got a lot weighing on my mind. Jake is sick. I have to try to change my flight back to Oklahoma. I have to book a ticket back to Costa Rica. I kinda wish I had chosen to go south with Marion. I miss Alex and the Irish with whom I had a blast yesterday in Mancora. I miss being grounded. I've lost a bit of my sense of adventure.

Maybe I am a bit depressed because I feel like I am taking steps back instead of forward. Maybe I am worried about what will happen at the beginning of October. I feel frequently these days like I have to figure out my life before making each individual decision. For example - the decision to go to Machu Picchu. I'm considering moving for a short period back to Oklahoma - at least to make it a home base for whatever I might do next (Nepal? Islands?). If I do that, then it makes sense to make the move when I go back at the end of September. And to that, I have to get everything arranged for Jake. Which takes time. Which I wouldn't have if I went to Machu Picchu.

I think really I am just tired. I'm in a place where really the thing to do is party at night, and I don't party that much these days. Especially when I am tired. I'm more inclined, really, to just pack up and take off. But to where?

This is another one of those lost days. Trying to tackle everything at once, and everything intellectually. Guess I need to spend some time alone. But that's hard too. I guess it's time to book a flight home.

Umm, Still Peru

2009-08-27T06:20:00.002-07:00

So, as it turns out, I didn't quite make it out of Peru last night. Alex, a friend I met in Banos, arrived in Mancora yesterday or the day before, and in spite of being very sick the night before, I hung out with him for a while yesterday. And towards the afternoon, I was just not in the mood to move on, either north or south. Feeling a lot better at the time, I just didn't want to get in a bus quite yet.

I moved to a new hostel last night, and the difference between the two is as great as the difference between my last two nights. In NAIF, the first hostel, I had a private room and bathroom in a very small, family run hostel with a nice little kitchen, a young daughter running around with her friends, and more hammocks than guests. While I enjoyed it immensely, my final night there was borderline delirious with the fever (maybe over the border), and consisted of me shivering in bed or shivering in the bathroom for the better part of the night. Loki, on the other hand - a name that has particular importance to me - was quite the opposite of the tranquilo atmosphere provided by NAIF. The building is beautiful (as you can see here), with a large swimming pool, a big bar, pool table, ping pong, table soccer, volleyball, and perhaps 100 or more guests lounging in posh resort style. I shared a room with 5 other people, and struggled to get some sleep over the heavy beats being played in the open bar/pool area after hanging out with some Germans until 1:00 AM. While 1 AM doesn't exist at NAIF, it's early at this hostel, and is the time when may here go out to party somewhere else.

In any event, I am still in Peru. I met a couple girls from Germany last night that are headed to Ecuador today, and thought I might join them at least for the bus ride. I'm guessing I'll head to Montanita overnight tonight, and perhaps spend a day or two there, and then head up to Cali and Bogota to catch a flight home. I'm down to well under $100, and have about $40 worth of busses, perhaps, to get back to Colombia. Then another $40 to get to Bogota - but I still have some Colombian pesos for that. So, perhaps I have $50 left. That may last three days, but, wow, hrmm, this is cutting it close.

Okay, so another day in Peru, and then north. As far as you know.

Note: You can't see here. Internet connection sucks butt.

Peru

2009-08-26T08:11:00.000-07:00

Sunrise in Mancora.

Surf Peru - Check.

So, a few days ago, when Alex, Ferne, and I got to Cuenca, we were planning on spending at least a night or two in Cuenca. But something happened when we got to the bus terminal in Cuenca. We checked on buses heading out, and all of us ended up buying tickets to leave Cuenca that night. They went on south to Loja and Vilcabamba, and I traveled west and south to the Peruvian border. Bus leaves at 9, it was only about 2, so we headed into Cuenca for a look around and some food (again, no burgers south of Cuenca), and back to the bus terminal to catch my 9 o'clock.

I know this may sound a bit like a repeat of my border crossing into Ecuador, but I met an awesome French girl at the bus terminal in Cuenca as we were boarding the bus to Mancora. Marion is down in South America after a friend's wedding in Guayaquil, Ecuador. She's going to travel a bit through Peru before heading back to France next month. She and I hit it off immediately, and were almost friends by the time we reached Mancora at, get this, 4:30 AM. This marks the second time I found myself in a small town in a new country for the first time in the middle of the night with a girl from Paris without a place to go. Strange, huh?

So we took at mototaxi (tuctuc) to a hostel we had heard of, and after negotiating for a room, decided to just sleep a couple of hours in a hammock until daylight and then find a place to stay the following night. After minimal sleep, Marion and I left for a walk to the beach just before sunrise to find some breakfast. This town is beautiful. It's dry - a real desert climate much dryer than I had imagined. The sun is really hot, but the breeze that blows off the water is very cool. There are quite a few tourists here, both from Peru and from away, but it's absolutely not even close to overwhelming like Jaco might be (and Jaco is nothing compared to most resort towns in the world). The one main street is paved, littered with tuctucs everywhere, while all other roads, like the one by the beach, is made of sand. There are beautiful women, hippies, Europeans, surfers, kiteboarders, sunbathers, and partiers. But not many of each.

NAIF Hostel.

Yesterday I surfed a 6:30 AM session and a 2 PM session. Peru marks my third country to surf in - behind Costa and Nicaragua. The waves aren't huge (no big swell these days), but the point break is a lot of fun, although a bit crowded. I find it easier to surf here, as the waves seem to wall up a bit better than in Oeste, even when they are small. I surfed on a 6'8", which isn't very small, but is the smallest I have ever surfed, and I did really well. Wetsuit in the morning, but only board shorts in the hot afternoon sun. It was an absolutely wonderful experience. I was a little nervous at first around a lot of new people, but quickly got in the swing of things and caught a good 10 waves or so yesterday. Some over head-high. Sweet.

Me getting off the back of a waste-high in Peru.

Marion and I have had the most wonderful conversations over the past few days. We spent about exactly 72 hours together, and all of it together, with the exception of the few hours of sleep for the two nights. She has challenged me completely, but at the same time we have helped each other to look at life, and living, from different perspectives. I have absolutely loved connecting with her - however short lived it was.

Marion left for Lima last night, as I suffered most of the night with what turned into a horrible fever. While I have been pretty sure I would head south for the past couple of days, I think it's time I head back north. I love the idea of going to Machu Picchu. But I think I'm tired. I miss my dog. I miss Costa. I miss Oklahoma. It's only been a couple of weeks, I know, but I think it's time to start my adventure back north. So tonight I will catch a bus, most likely back into Ecuador, and see if I can't catch a wave there back to Costa Rica, and then on to Oklahoma.

For Better and For Worse

2009-08-25T17:46:00.000-07:00

A good friend of mine told me today that she gets upset because people never write on Facebook or in their blogs about the bad times. Generally, it's only pictures on Facebook of smiles and beautiful sunsets. So, tonight, I am writing because this is one of those bad times.

Not that it's all bad. I am in a beautiful place... still in Mancora in Peru. The place I am staying, while ridden with mosquitos, is a beautiful little hippy place. I'll write all about the last three days in the morning. But for now, I am writing because I am sick. And it hurts.

I have been doing the opposite of being careful with what I eat down here. I have been careless, tempting fate every chance I get. Ceviche of all varieties, fruits out of the mercado, juices made from small town water - you name it. And somewhere along the way over the past couple of days, I found something that is haunting me. It started yesterday with bad stomach cramps. This morning, it turned to diarrhea and nausea. Then this afternoon, the fever hit. Accompanied by cold sweats and serious body aches, it has pretty much knocked me down. Faced this morning with the question of going north or south on a bus, I now have no option.

So my body hurts. Everywhere. If it weren't for the stomach cramps, it would feel like the onset of dengue. But I know it's just the fever causing the pain, and the fever is surely related to whatever is happening in my stomach. In a way, this buys me some time alone. I've been spending the last three days with a very cool new friend, who took off for Lima tonight, and haven't spent any time with myself. And so, like the yellow fever vaccination, this illness allows me to see an opportunity at the same time it forces me into it.

And so I will lay here tonight, perhaps blog if I can not sleep, but likely stare at the swarm of mosquitos above me looking for any opportunity at exposed skin, thinking about which way the bus might take me tomorrow. Torn between north and south, solo or with a friend. Tonight, though, as usual, the decision was was in the hands of the universe, not mine.

Banos to Alausi

2009-08-23T20:22:00.000-07:00

On the road to Alausi.

Hostel Panamericano Detail

The morning after our excellent bike ride, I hiked up the mountain next to Banos to get a great view from a lookout point called Bellavista. The hike was a little much after the exertion the day before towing that crazy Australian damn near to Amazonia, and my back has been really bothering me since. But that's no matter.

We, being Alex, Ferne, and myself, representing three continents of English speaking countries, headed south a couple-three hours (thanks to Maine for the term "couple-three") to a city called Riobamba, which may be the fourth largest city in Ecuador, for all you know. Our intention was to catch a train to a magical place called El Nariz del Diablo, or "Candy Mountain" in English. All the guide books mention it, and for good reason. It's the only interesting thing about Riobamba. And it's not that interesting. As it turned out, though, they were sold out from Riobamba, which was good news, because it meant we didn't have to stay there.

And MORE good news... we could catch a train to the same magic Candy Mountain from a much closer and cheaper spot in Alausi. And so we had a quick bite to eat and headed back to the bus station for another couple-three hours to Alausi.

Side note: On the train to Alausi, the bus stopped for a couple of dozen traditionally dressed Ecuadorians to board the bus and crowd the aisles. The women still wear the clothing you see in the pictures; I was amazed! Hats of varying styles. Four or five layers on top, covered with a very brightly colored shawl. Half a dozen skirts, with an equally brightly colored top skirt, sometimes with some lacy stuff towards the bottom. And crazy wool socks pulled up to the knees. But here's the thing, and I mean no disrespect; they smelled of rotten-onion trout. I didn't even know rotten-onion trouts existed until I smelled them, and I kid you not, I am still smelling it today. But I digress.

After quickly finding perhaps the most meager accommodations I have ever had the pleasure of paying good money to lay my head in (and yet still considerably better than the house I lived in for the past 10 months), we toured Alausi in the dark, assuming we would be leaving the next day after our train treat. And as it turns out, Alausi is absolutely beautiful. I can not describe how magical the town park and church are after sunset in this 5000 person Andean gem (do I sound like a guidebook yet?). I'll include a picture here so you can describe it yourself. The whole town is magical, though, from the cobblestone streets, to the $2 big ass breakfasts, to the mix of traditional and modern dress and customs, to the old western movie style train station and balcony doors, to the gigantic statue of San Pedro, the patron saint of patron saints.

Boys around the age of 7 to 9 run the streets covered in soot asking REPEATEDLY to shine your shoes. I named one Pedro, and he and I had a great conversation consisting of him starting with "Something in Spanish that probably means shoe shine", and my response of "No gracias." And then repeat. Not a dozen times, but hundreds. Eventually, we cracked little Pedro, and his smile beamed. He enjoyed the game enough to bring friends back the next morning, and we finally cracked and gave them a dime or several to pose for the picture shown here. Pedro is the one with his arms around two other boys. Love those little guys. Taught them to say "dirty shoes" in English. Best of luck my friends.

So we went and saw the Devil's Nose on a train. Meh. At it's best. If you've done everything else in Ecuador and have lost your passport and therefore can not leave, you should do the train ride to Devil's Nose. Or just lay on the tracks and wait for the train... that may be better.

Afterward, we decided to drink our dinner in our penthouse, which was fun, and left us with nice little hangovers for the next day when I, again, changed my mind last minute and decided to head south to Cuenca, instead of out to the Ecuadorian beaches to the west, keeping the Three Amigos together for at least a few more hours, and seriously testing my cash reserves. At the time of boarding, I had no idea where I would go from Cuenca, but Peru was weighing heavily on my mind. So - close - to - Peru. Must - go - to - Peru. Doesn't that make it sound heavy? I won't tell you how this turned out, but I'll give you a little teaser... Da-da-da-da!!! I'm in Peru! But you knew that already. Because I want my next blog to be about my trip to Peru and my first day here, I'm going to skip Cuenca with just this... Absolutely beautiful. I don't like big cities, but if you are going to go to one, go to Cuenca (Ecuador's third largest city, as far as you know). But avoid the burgers from this point south.

Tomorrow's blog - PERU! Neat. Am I the only one excited about this? Oh, don't get your hopes up; I'm still in the range of 40ish hours from Machu Pichu, and don't even have the money for the bus to get there and back.

Right Now - 23/8/09 5:50 PM

2009-08-23T15:49:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note - Peru is beautiful. I'm at a sweet little hippy hostel right on the beach on the North coast. It happens to have WiFi, so I'll blog tonight about the last few days of adventure. Life is wonderful. Can't find my razor.

Right Now 22 Aug 2009 717 PM

2009-08-22T17:16:00.000-07:00

I´m sitting in a little internet shop in Cuenca, Ecuador´s third largest city. I just arrived here by bus this afternoon, and plan on leaving tonight. The city is absolutely fantastic, and I would have very much liked to have stayed, but have already bought my next ticket when I was at the terminal earlier.

I´ve had an absolutely wonderful few days. I honestly feel great. I´ve been joyful the vast majority of the time, laughing at things that aren´t funny, smiling frequently at nothing at all. Just smiling.

Right now, my back is killing me. After the bike ride and then hike the following morning, which I will blog about soon, my disc started acting up again. But I feel physically excellent. I have quit smoking. I did cheat and have two cigarettes, but only two in the past week or more. I haven´t been drinking much, likely due to the lack of money. I feel strong.

I did start running into some intellectual questions about this spiritual path I seem to be on. They´re not really new, but I think that they are hitting me in a new way. I wrote this in my journal the other day...

... I feel a little lost today. Where´s the meaning? Where´s the purpose? If I´m measnt to live in the present, why? Why be happy? How do we accept the end? Or is there no end? And if there is no end, what goal could we have? Ease suffering? Why? Suffering is in the mind, so perhaps we kill the mind? And if we do that, why not kill our bodies too? Even if it was all to get to heaven, or to our lotus leaf, why? What´s there? If we wase all the suffering, then what? Then there´s no suffering to ease. If I haven´t found heaven, how can I say it´s better than hell? Haven´t people claimed to have seen heaven and chosen to return to hell?

Looking back, that passage seems really depressing. But I wasn´t at all depressed, nor am I now. My mind has just taken a step back and wonders why we would ever prefer to be in heaven, where there is no longer purpose. At least when we are in hell, we can have a purpose to get to heaven, or at least to get some AC or some ice cream or something. When you reach the top, which may be where I am going, or where I already am and don´t realize it fully yet, why go on? Does feeing joy and love ever get boring? Does numbing ourselves to our human condition really lead to something better than the hell we are in? If we´re on a rollercoaster and are fully aware, we recognize that the odds of being hurt are ridiculously slim, but if we choose to be blind, we can enjoy the fear and adrenaline from the climbs and falls. Does awareness really lead to something greater?

In the end, I guess there is only one way to find out. And I guess it gives me purpose. And that´s good enough for me.

I´ve started reading the New Testament. Surprisingly, it didn´t catch fire in my hands, nor have I been struck by lightening more than normal. I find the first few chapters of Matthew very much in line with my understanding of my spirituality these days. He argues against worrying about human needs, and instead find spirituality and human needs will be taken care of by themselves. He warns against thought, even. But then Jesus seems to get a little mean and starts threatening people if they don´t follow his lead. And I´m not sure I buy all of his miracles. I´ll write more about it as we go along.

By the way... I don´t quite know how to say this. I don´t really feel bad about it, because I think it was the Gideon´s intention, really, but I stole the Gideon bible from the hostel I stayed in for two nights in Alausi. I can just imagine me getting to the pearly gates, or whatever there is at the entrance to heaven, and God saying something to the effect of, ¨Seriously? You stole the BIBLE! You stole the freakin book in which I told you NOT to steal. No, you can not come in here. Jeezy Creezy, get over here! Get this guy.¨ And of course, Jesus would reply, ¨Stop calling me that! You know I hate it when you call me that.¨ And I guess I´d probably just take a picture and move on. Perhaps it´s for the best.

Did I steal that Jeezy Creezy bit from a Brittish executive transvestite comedian? Man, I gotta stop jacking stuff before it becomes a habit!

Biking Banos to Puyo

2009-08-19T20:45:00.000-07:00

Okay, I had an absolutely incredible day today. First, I woke up, as I had planned. EXACTLY as I had planned. I'm not as flaky as I thought.

Following waking up, I had a steam bath. This is pretty funny. For $2.75, you get taken into the steam bath area next to the rooftop terrace. It's all enclosed, with several small rooms. You are placed in a wooden box, where you sit and a cover is slid on to the top, with only a small hole for your next to fit through. And then it gets HOT. And WET. You sit there for a few minutes, and just as you're about to pass out, they take you out, and you soak a towel in a bowl being fed by a stream of frigid water for a second before running it up your right side. Then left. Then center. Then right. Then left. Then back. Super cold. Then repeat. In one of the repetitions, you replace the toweling with siting down in a running bath of frigid water and rub your abdomen in a circular direction with two fingers for a few minutes. At the end, you are sprayed off (right side first again) with a hose like a jailor might do to a new inmate.

It actually felt wonderful. After that and some delicious breakfast, I bought a pair of socks (that makes two pairs, which is better than one), a plastic poncho, and some water, and headed on a biking voyage through the mountains with Alex, from London, who is now a good friend, and Ferne, from Australia, who is also now a good friend. It was SPECTACULAR. Here are some of the pics. The waterfalls were gorgeous, and the views unparalleled. After 25 kilometers, though, Alex's chain broke. So, I bought a five foot piece of rope off of some guy in a nearby house for 50 cents, and tied a lead from my bike to his. We put Ferne on the bike at the end of the rope, and I towed her to some of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. After another 25 km, though, I was dead. My legs just wouldn't work anymore. So we had a beer overlooking yet another spectacular section of the river as the sun set, and then caught a bus passing by on the way back to Banos.

Honestly, it was one of the most wonderful experiences I have ever had. Again, full of laughs, smiles, and at least for me, love. I think I'll wake up tomorrow too.

Banos

2009-08-18T14:48:00.000-07:00

Wow. Been cool. First, some parting things on Colombia, about things I found neat in Colombia:

There are armed guards at all the bridges. That doesn't make me feel safer.
You have to wear a vest with your license plate number in huge lettering when you ride on a motorcycle. They say it's because the FARC and Narcs used to kill people while on motorcycles and nobody could get their license numbers. Interesting.
They love billiards up there. Tons of pool tables. Even a little pool hall in the bus station in Bogota.
On the bus, there's a digital readout of the speed of the bus where everyone can see. When it's below 80 m/h, it's green. Above 80, it turns red. Above 100, it just says "Alerta, Alerta, Alerta." That's not really about Colombia, but it was neat.

Okay, on to the bus ride. First, a 23 hour bus ride from Bogota to the border town of Ipeales. That's a long bus ride. But it was awesome. I met a totally cool French girl in the Bogota bus station who was also heading towards the border. Julie has been traveling around the world for the past year, and was heading to Colombia from LA to meet up with some friends from France when she heard that they were still in Ecuador. So, she was taking a bus from Bogota to meet them in a cool town called Banos, a few hours south of Quito. By the time we were at the border, we were great friends, and she invited me to come to Banos. And so I did.

But on the bus! GOD did I feel love. Smiling and laughing randomly as I stared at the countryside. Even freezing in the middle of the night, I was elated. And I still feel it. I sat next to a Ecuadorian from Quito named David, who at one point tried (of course in Spanish) to start converting me to Christianity. He's a Jehovah's Witness, it turns out. Later over breakfast, he warned me not to accept drinks or candy from strangers. That made sense, as they could drug me and rob me of my enormous wealth, but what HE was warning about was them drugging me and robbing me of my LIVER. And kidneys. And corneas! Yeah! He was sure to let me know that the going rate for a cornea is $20,000 or $30,000 US. Which is good news! I'm almost out of money and my corneas are in really good condition.

So, at another point on the first bus, get this situation... An American (me!) living in Costa Rica sharing some Johnny Walker Blue Label scotch and some conversation in Spanish with a Pakistani living in Paraguay on a bus from Colombia to Ecuador. How international is THAT? Very. That's how.

So, we got to Ecaudor. After 22 hours on a bus and a short taxi/collectivo ride. See picture. Crossed the border. Had a good conversation with a border guard checking my bag about two dollar bills. He was fascinated because a) they freaking use US dollars here (who freaking knew); b) they do not have two dollar bills; and c) he had recently seen one on display somewhere. He thought it was funny. We laughed about something.

Then I got in another taxi/collectivo to the next town, and was just able to get a half chicken to split with Julie before rushing to the next bus that was leaving for Quito. In THAT bus, nothing exciting happened, really. Just 5.5 hours or so of Ecuador. Some good laughing with Julie, a quick view of a wall and some identical buildings in Quito. We planned to stay at a hostel near the bus station in Quito.

But as it turns out! That bus station "no funciona." It no longer exists as a bus station. So we went to a new one, that is NOT in the guide book I bought online with mom's credit card. And it's a long way from pretty much everything. SO, we got there and a) realized that Ecuadorians generally view South as up, which is why I was so confused talking with David on the bus about the layout of Quito; and b) a bus leaves in 10 minutes to Banos, and we can even have time to buy four beers if we really hurry. And so we did.

And finally, at 2AM, 33 hours after I left Bogota, a bus dropped me and Julie off in the dark, on a street, next to what they called a bus station, in a town I'd never been to, in a country I've only taken a few steps in, where it smells like pee (a dog in the cargo hold peed on Julie's bag - not kidding), with nobody on the streets, and without a place to go. I was on high alert. Thank god I know ninja.

There were three hostel signs within view in this 13,000 person town. Two had big gates shut on the entrance door. One had three hoodlum looking 15 year old kids in the entrance. We went for that one. Turns out they had a room with two beds for $15 - hot water and even a TV. Perfect. We crashed. In the Hostel Don Diego. It wasn't pretty, and the street was loud with trucks, but I was able to lay vertical and stretch out. Awesome.

The next morning we went in search of her friends, who were rumored to be staying at a place called Plantas y Blanco. So we set out. The town is only about 10 blocks by 10 blocks. It's neat. Plantas y Blanco was only about 7 blocks away. We found it, they had two beds in a dorm with four other beds and a shared bath. Cool. The friends weren't here, but they had been.

Okay, this is getting long, so I'll bullet:

Found friends (three French girls), who had found another friend in the jungle (Alex from London).
Ate delicious lunch.
Went to hot springs bath. Back and forth between freaking hot mineral baths filled with Ecuadorians and freezing cold shower from beautiful waterfall that I'm looking at now.
Delicious pizza for dinner on the brick sidewalk by the center park in front of the church. Beautiful.
Looking from the hostel's rooftop terrace, I saw two boys, perhaps 9 and 11, pee on the street. And when I say on the street, I mean ON the street. In the middle of it. Just stopped in their tracks, whipped it out, and peed in the middle of an intersection about 10 feet apart. It seemed natural. Later I saw a guy peeing on a building right by a crowded street. Sober. Apparently that's in.
Meet up for drinks, pool, dancing with another new friend, Jenny, also from London. Four crazy French girls, a cool young London girl, Alex, Brian, and a slew of others from Spain, Chicago, Switzerland, and of course Ecuador, doing tequila shots and drinking oversized beers while concentrating on the longest games of pool on a tilted table in Ecuador. Neat.
Drunk. Late. Night. Security guard. Street corner. Top bunk.
I had planned on going either white water rafting or mountain biking today. But didn't.
Excellent conversation with an Aussie who just came over from Venezuela about the spirituality and socialism. Good timing after just finishing the Celestine Prophecy.

This town is absolutely awesome. Hot springs. Jungle. Biking. Bungee. White water rafting. TONS of hostels, backpackers, awesomeness. You should definitely stop by. If you're in the neighborhood.

Oh, so the Celestine Prophecy is all about coincidences, and get this. Five pages before the end of the book, a character exclaims "Onward and Upward!" Now THAT is strange (read my last blog). Still don't really know what that means.

Tomorrow, I plan on waking up.

Bogota - Ecuador - $40

2009-08-15T14:20:00.000-07:00

This is kind fun. I decided this morning over an omelete at some restaurant on the north side of Bogota that I should head to Ecuador. ¿Can anyone offer any insight as to why? GOD I love upside down punctuation.

I´m in the bus terminal in Bogota. It´s cheaper for me to take a 26 hour bus ride to Ecuador, hang out there for a week or two, and then head back than it would be for me to try to travel around Colombia. Colombia is just silly. Going to Ecuador, that´s just crazy. Loco gringo, Jota called me.

So, as it turns out, I´m heading to Ecuador. I got a real yellow fever vaccination yesterday, cancelled my return flight to Costa today, and am catching the longest bus ride of my life in just under and hour. Oh, and when I get to the border, I´ll take a cab into Ecuador, and then have to take another bus for five hours to get to Quito. But THEN, well, but then...

Jota happens to have a friend in Quito. So I am going to call her when I get there. Perhaps I can stay with her for a couple of nights, and then head deeper into the Andes or perhaps to some coastal town Ecuador. I won´t have money to do anything, so I should get pretty good at doing nothing for a week or two. But I´ll be doing nothing in Ecuador.

Eventually, I´ll reissue my ticket back to Costa to see Jake. Cause I miss him. Damn I love that dog. I am guessing now that I´ll come back some time in late August or the first of September. But honestly, it could be in 9 days. I don´t know if I know how to spend only $10 or $15 per day, especially when I´ll be paying $5 to $10 of that on lodging. It should be interesting to see.

As for now, I am going to get on a bus. Perhaps stare at some countryside, and see where the road takes me. Hopefully it´s Ecuador, cause that´s what my ticket says.

¡Woohoo!

Right Now - 14/8/09 10:25 AM

2009-08-14T20:31:00.000-07:00

In a McDonalds. In Bogota. On Calle 116 and Carrera 19, or so. Free wifi. So I bought a water.

I just walked back from Nina's house, where I had a nice little dinner and a beer as I chatted with Nina, her niece Yolanda, and Yolanda's daughter Jen. All part of Ozzie's family. It was nice to have some typical Colombian food, which I have been seriously lacking since I have been here. It was nice to meet some new people, see Nina's place, and talk with Jen, who is about to start her second year of college. It felt like family.

I decided today not to accept the job here in Colombia. In the end, screw all the signs or coincidences. It doesn't feel right for me. I think the reason is mostly that La Mesa could be a small town in America. Sure, the culture and climate may change, as it does throughout the states, but it's really just a small town an hour away from a huge city. I like all the small towns throughout the hills; I like the idea of meeting new people and being involved in new communities; I like the idea of working with Trevor and helping take something very small into something less small. But in the end, I think my life here would be work. I may get the opportunity to travel from time to time, perhaps to Ecuador or Peru, but I think my life while I worked would lack growth in any manner other than in a career. Living and working in Colombia sounds freaking cool, but I don't think it's that much different from living and working in the Poconos, minus nice lakes and tourists.

So, tomorrow I am going to go to the airport. I got a falsified yellow fever document, but it wasn't filled out correctly, so I am going to have to change my flight. I have two wonderful friends in Costa that I would love to travel around with for the next week, but I also love this opportunity to cruise around Colombia for a couple of weeks and see what's up here. Mom, don't be surprised if I call asking for more than five bucks next time...

Overall, I'm a little excited about where tomorrow will take me. I keep thinking I should be getting nervous about not having a job lined up, but I'm just not. I'm actually pretty emotionless these days. I don't suppose that will last for too long. It's quite calming right now, but honestly a bit boring. I loved the sadness I felt with Pepper left, and I look forward to being a little nervous during my travels here in Colombia. I'm still not sure how long I will delay my flight back to Costa. Think 2 weeks is enough? I guess I'm planning on cruising up to Medellin, then to the Caribbean coast, up to Cartagena, then down to some cool colonial town, then back to Bogota. It will be in the range of 50 hours in a bus over the next however long, which is a lot. Maybe I can find a bookstore.

I may not be able to blog much over the next while, but I'll connect when I can.

As a good lawyer friend of mine in Boston used to say, "Onward and Upward."

Not sure what that meant.

Bogota Colombia

2009-08-14T20:23:00.000-07:00

Meh.

Big ass city. Eight million. Lots of people. President's Palace. Old buildings. Crepes. Busses. Lots of busses.

I can't get the pictures off of my camera, and the ones on my iPhone don't do much, but there are a few neat things I found here. First, there's a single block of sidewalk where you see a bunch of people all crowded around, at first seeming to all be staring at their shoes, perhaps in some shy manner to avoid eye contact. As it turns out, though, this is a rare stone exchange. And it's super serious. Thousands and thousands of dollars are held on little white folded pieces of paper as potential purchasers expect first by eye, then by mini-microscope to determine the street value of the precious stone. Jota informed me that most are probably carrying guns, and that there is never any crime on this particular block. Very odd thing, really.

I learned not to say "hola" to guys here. They look at you funny. Hola is fine for girls, but Buenas is more appropriate for guys. Interesting.

It's freaking cold here when the sun isn't shining. Girls all walk around in down jackets and fancy boots, and men wear suits or at least carry sweaters. It's a good climate to dress well all of the time, so I clearly stand out being a bum from the beach.

The McDonalds and KFCs are mansions here. Two stories, even sometimes roof decks. Crazy.

I'm definitely not into big cities these days.

Meh.

La Florida Colombia

2009-08-14T20:11:00.000-07:00

There are tons of cute little towns scattered throughout the mountains surrounding La Mesa, and probably throughout the country. I especially liked this pueblo, La Florida, which is quite a bit higher than La Mesa, perhaps an hour drive across windy mountain roads. La Florida is in an area of black soil and cooler climate than La Mesa, which makes it ideal for exporting flowers, as the name might suggest. The pueblo is very small, and has no system of government of its own, but instead tags off of another nearby pueblo Anolaima, for its organization - not unlike Esterillos Oeste tagging off of Parrita.

The kids there are still very intrigued by the presence of a gringo walking around their streets. One boy, in particular, holding a kite (which are really big here - people sell them at your car window at traffic lights here in Bogota like they sell fruit in Costa), saw me and, after staring for a bit and smiling, went to grab a couple of friends to show me to them. It was cute. It reminded me of Bello just north of Medellin when I landed there while paragliding in the low clouds. But that's neither here nor there.

In any event, it's clear that this town was hopping when the railroad used to run through. I guess the rails have been replaced by trucks which hightail it to the airport with the flowers the locals grow. You can see the old, worn down hotels and rail station, though. It actually gave a cool feeling as you could guess the excitement when the train would pull in and farmers from the countryside would ride carts full of color to sell to vendors ready to load on the railcars. Or, in any event, it looks cool.

La Mesa Colombia

2009-08-13T10:21:00.000-07:00

We arrived in La Mesa, after running by to see a lawyer at around 11:30 PM on Tuesday night, a little after one in the morning. After a beer and an introduction to Luisa, Jorge's pet monkey who lives in the backyard, we went to bed.

I mostly just followed Jorge around yesterday, and got on the computer a bit while he was at work. Jorge is Trevor's partner down here. He was born in Colombia, although a bit northeast of here, but moved to California when he was very young to escape danger from leftist rebels in his birthplace. He's has some interesting stories about coming back to visit - once his aunt was shot in the shoulder while trying to escape a FARC roadblock. Young Jorge was in the back seat, and was thrown down on the ground, but got extremely lucky as the national guard appeared at exactly the right moment, weapons firing, and successfully chasing off Jorge's potential captors. Jorge, now 28, has lived here in La Mesa for the better part of the last decade, and has worked with his family business of telecommunications here in Colombia, while his parents are still in LA running a successful residential construction company.

Jorge's a good guy. He's very driven, but has a softer side too. He labels himself as an atheist and an alchemist, although I haven't pressed very hard to see what he really means by this. He really wants to make this company a success, after major setbacks involving the theft of copper wires left the company in a somewhat desperate situation.

Enter Trevor. A good friend from back in Oklahoma who seems to dabble. Everywhere. Nobody's really sure what Trevor does. I'm not sure he knows. But somehow he ended up becoming a partner in a small telecommunications company in La Mesa Colombia, and is searching for someone help him to expand his client base. After flying to Costa to chat with me, he agreed to fly me to Colombia to check it out.

The town is cool. I wouldn't call it beautiful, but that's only to my eye. It's a small town, but larger than what I am used to. Perhaps 30,000 people. It's got a strong city center, surrounding the "new" catholic church built perhaps a couple hundred years ago, abutting the "old" catholic church, built even earlier. In every pueblo down here, there's a small park in front of the catholic church, which serves as a meeting grounds in the evenings, filled with benches similar to the ones all over Costa.

The town center is on a "drunk grid" system, as I have called it. The streets aren't quite perpendicular or even particularly straight, but it resembles a grid system in a not so right-angle type of way. It's mostly brick and clay cinderblock construction, with either lamina or those spanish style clay tile roofs. The church may be the only really pretty building here, although there are some absolutely beautiful houses in one of the hundreds of communal additions surrounding the city.

It lies in the short mountains, but quite lower than Bogota, so it's hot during the day. Pretty hot actually. At night, it can get chilly, perhaps even enough for a blanket. The first night I was here I was happy to have the blanket. The second night I would have preferred without a sheet. If it weren't for that damn mosquito.

The town is used as Trevor and Jorge's base of operations, and then they have repeaters and slave towers to cover the whole town and towns nearby. Some of the nearby towns are sweet little mountain towns, where the kids are still really interested to see a gringo. Those are definitely my kind of places.

I'll be heading into Bogota tonight, as Jorge has to be there in the morning. Not sure where the next 48 hours will take me. Especially unsure where the next two months will take me. But I'll have to start making decisions, likely starting tomorrow.

Right Now - 13/8/09 10:25 AM

2009-08-13T08:24:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in Jorge's office in La Mesa, Colombia - about an hour drive west of Bogota. I'm well rested after getting a long night sleep last night, but feeling a little uneasy. Maybe it's because of a vicious mosquito attack last night (it was two against one). I think right now I am wrestling between improving my future and enjoying today. And in more than one way.

The job I am scoping here, for example, would be a hell of an experience. I would be doing business in Colombia, which is something relatively unique for an Oklahoman. I would continue to improve my Spanish. I would be doing something "grown up" in an industry I know very little about. It would be a great resume boost.

But on the other hand, although La Mesa is beautiful, and I actually really enjoy this type of town, there isn't a whole lot here that interests me. No surfing, no tourists from around the world - basically a life similar to one might have in a small town Oklahoma, only without being able to drink the water, people that speak in a different language ----

11:47 AM - Just had lunch with Jorge. But I'll get back to what I was saying before. Basically, I think I'd grow as a person here, but I would grow as a spirit better somewhere else. That's a silly way of putting it, I know, but it's the way it feels. Now I know my mom would ask why can't I do both? Or she would say that it's not about the place, it's about me, and I can be myself and grow as a spirit anywhere I am. And theoretically, she's right. But I'm still not there yet. I think it's still easier for me to... Wow. First, wow, this is a train of thought blog. Second, wow, I think I know what's best for me again.

I'm reading the Celestine Prophecy for the first time these days, and the "First Insight" of the "Manuscript" that predicts the spiritualization of human beings at the end of the 21st century is awareness of coincidences - the feeling that something else might be guiding us in a certain direction. I find it similar to the signs that the boy in The Alchemist kept looking for. In both novels, the characters drop rationalization and intellectualization for this mystical guidance. And in a way, it's exactly what I have done when going with my gut feeling. It's taking away the conscious mind, and, in a way, having faith in something we don't understand. I tend to think of signs and coincidences as they are portrayed in these novels not as some alternate force in the universe, but as a language spoken by our spirits that is recognized by our intellects. But perhaps they are both. Perhaps our spirits and this alternate energy are one and the same. Maybe it doesn't matter.

And so soon I will be faced with a decision - move to Colombia or stay in Costa - or move to Oklahoma or travel to Nepal - or God knows what. Oddly, all of the signs and some coincidences seem to point to Colombia. I've always had some strange fascination with this country. I know a good amount of Spanish. Pepper's boyfriend's grandmother lives here. My passport says I was freaking born here! Yellow fever may make me stay a few extra days. But it doesn't feel right, does it? Or am I just expecting something different right now? Am I expecting the signs to point towards a less human experience right now? And so perhaps the off feeling is really just my intellect not believing the signs. Maybe the signs are telling me just to stick around for a few weeks.

Great, so now I'm really in an intellectual rut. And I believe it's all just my intellect trying to steer myself in a certain direction. I don't trust myself or the world. And that's pretty sad. I don't trust myself at all these days.

All told, though, I'm pretty happy. I have awesome options. I'm in a small office in Colombia, experiencing stuff I never had before. I feel a lot of love these days, both internal and external. Overall, a pretty good life. And I guess this struggle is the struggle I am meant to go through right now. And I'm interested to see how it will turn out. I'm interested to see what decision I'll make. I bet it will be the only one I can.

The Yellow Fever Blessing

2009-08-11T13:23:00.001-07:00

I bet there might be a lot of people with Yellow Fever that might get quite mad at the title of this blog, and perhaps I'm being insensitive, but yellow fever has actually, seemingly, blessed me. Here's how...

I'm on my way to Colombia. I decide to delay a three day trip down to check out a job prospect in order to spend time with Pepper on her last week in Costa Rica. I decide to fly out on the same day she flies out, so we can hang out as much as she can stand.

Pepper is going to move to Australia to meet up with her boyfriend, Oz. Ozzie's mother, Lee, lives in Atenas, between Esterillos Oeste and the airport in Alejuela. Pepper wants to spend a night at Lee's before heading out, and Pepper, Pat, and I went to Lee's last night for some wonderful food and incredible company. Late last night, Lee mentioned Yellow Fever.

As it turns out, Costa Rica will not let me back in if I have not received a Yellow Fever vaccine. And I will have had to receive it ten days prior to returning to Costa. Oops! That sucks.

Or DOES it? Instead of only three days in Colombia, I get to spend ten! And Lee's mom lives in Bogota, and would love it if I stopped by! And why the hell stop there? There's a lot of Colombia out there, they tell me. And Ecuador is right next door with a really cool place I can't spell. And Peru; haven't I always wanted to go to Peru? Well, no. But still! Brazil, the Guays, Argentina, Chile, and some countries up on the Northeast Coast that I either a) won't visit; or b) have never heard of really.

Well, Pepper, Pat, Lee and Lee's boyfriend all did a damn fine job of convincing me that this is a blessing. It's a sign. It's an OPPORTUNITY. And it's too good to pass up.

Oddly, I guess I had this opportunity without yellow fever. It just too the virus to make me realize it. And so, with very little money (a bit more thanks to a very generous gift from Pat and Sheila helping out with my exit taxes), clothes meant for staying in a luxury house for three days, and a damn fine attitude, I'm heading to Colombia. And I don't know how long I will stay. Perhaps two weeks? Perhaps three? In any event, it will be an adventure. But then again, isn't it all?

Pepper.

2009-08-11T11:35:00.000-07:00

I literally cried. Tears welled up in my eyes as my face tensed. A frown with a smile at the tips showed the seemingly contradictory emotions of surprising sadness and utter joy as we hugged for the last time. I felt as though I might crash into the ground as Pepper walked off to the plane.

Since Pepper moved to Esterillos a few short months ago, she has touched the lives of all of us with her sincere smile, her infectious laugh, and her loving and lovable spirit. I fell head over heels in love with her almost immediately. Working only Monday nights at the bar, I ensured I was there with her - not for support but just to have the opportunity to be around her. Monday nights led us to a friendship that has blessed me ever since. I had the opportunity to see her fall in love with Oz, which, as Pat puts it, is perhaps the best couple the world has known. We experienced an overwhelming love together in roadtrips with Oz, Scott, and Jeni, first to Atenas and then to Manuel Antonio. We've danced on the streets together, gotten high off of water vapor together, surfed, worked, laughed, cried, loved, seen Scott strip in front of Ozzie's mom, bitched, high-fived, dined, and had Cuba Libres out of a can on the sidewalk in front of a grocery store in Parrita together. We danced to Michael Jackson after his death, and took on Oz in the first and perhaps only Boogie Days tournament in front of the Lowtide. A lifetime of memories from only a few short months.

The sadness comes not from a sense of loss, as neither Pepper nor any of our experiences together were mine or were permanent, but simply from a separation from a dear sweet friend who seemed to know me better than I knew myself at times. But it fails in comparison to the joy I have for the time we have spent together, and the life-long impact she will continue to have on me. I'll miss her, that is for sure, but it's wonderful to have had someone like Pepper in my life to miss.

Not Waiting for the Last Dance

2009-08-09T09:45:00.000-07:00

My mom and I had a great conversation the other night, during which I remembered a certain personality psychology course I took at Harvard. While I was pretty well known for not attending lectures, this particular course spoke to me. It was taught by an absolutely wonderful man named Brian Little, who was almost poetic in his lectures about "personal projects", "pseudo selves", and "having, doing, and being." It amazes me that I haven't thought of him within the last year or so, because as I look back, he might have been a very significant influence on my life.

Professor Little was not only fun. He was VERY fun. And he was also very interesting. Much of what he taught was his material (which is common at Harvard), and his particular perspective on personality psychology was not necessarily brand new, but was humanistic in a manner that is rare at a research institution like Harvard. Now, it has been years since I took the course, but one of the central concerns of Little is how personal projects, personal strivings, and life tasks lead us to generally take on different personality characteristics. In other words, it is theorized that our personality is relatively stable throughout our lives, but we actually show personality traits that are significantly different than our stable personality in order to accomplish certain goals. For example, I may be far on the introvert side of the Extroversion scale and far on the positive side of the Neurotic scale (there are five main "scales" that are commonly used in defining a personality), but I may have a life goal of being married and having children. God KNOWS no nice girl in her right mind would want to be with me being who I really am, and so I can only help to find a girl in her wrong mind or act a little different to fool those sane girls into loving me. Thus, I may act extroverted and less neurotic in order to attract a pretty girl who might find me interesting enough to bear my children and tie the knot.

What Little found, of course, is that high stress is highly correlated with a large separation between the personality of our short-term "pseudo-self" (although I think he hated this word) and our "actual" self. This shouldn't come as a surprise. In considering "sacrifice" though, I find this particularly interesting. I am of the opinion these days, and not even that strong of an opinion, that the only thing one can really sacrifice in this life is one's self. At any time that I am not being true to myself, that I am not being authentically me, I am sacrificing myself. A good friend once said that if, in any job, you are sacrificing yourself, you will find that no amount of compensation will ever make up for it. I tend to agree. And while I believe that changing one's personality is not necessarily out of line with being authentic, I believe it provides a nice metaphor. Perhaps the stress that we feel when we are using a false personality is a good metaphor for the suffering (as the Buddhists would call it) we feel when we are not being our authentic selves. Perhaps it's more than a metaphor. Perhaps is just a smaller scale of the same problem.

Before his final lecture at Harvard, Little had asked us to read what I remember as the 18th and final chapter of a book. I can't quite remember the name of the book, or what genre it would fit in, but it was just a short little thing, and I believe that the 18th and final chapter was perhaps titled "Save the Last Dance." In this chapter, the author writes in the first person, and is writing a request to himself. In this plea, he forgives himself for not always being there, from straying away from himself from time to time. He doesn't assign blame, but instead offers understanding, a compassion for himself for wandering away from his true self, knowing that it was in pursuit of important life goals. But he asks himself, in a lovingly poetic way, to come back home when those tasks are done. He asks himself, when he finally reaches his deathbed, to save that last dance for him.

So Dr. Little, in his final minutes of his final lecture at Harvard, brought the class to tears and then a 20 minute standing ovation as he left us with something that would not be on a test. It was not something that we would need if we went on to become psychologists or psychiatrists, but something he found important enough to share with that mass of inspired intellectuals. As we go through life, we will frequently seperate from our true selves. We will find ourselves acting, wearing masks, putting on shows in order to accomplish certain goals, whether life-long or short term. But in the end, peace comes from being at home, from being ourselves. That last dance should be for us, not for this human experience and its demands.

I guess for me, I'm interested in dancing with myself before that final song. Of course, when you first start dancing with someone new, it's sloppy. Sloppy is actually quite an understatement for what I am experiencing right now. I guess I would prefer to go through the awkwardness now, though. Perhaps then I can enjoy whatever song life plays, regardless of whether or not I have a partner. And when my time does come, perhaps I'll be a bit more graceful, or at least be able to just laugh with myself when I lose the beat.

Costa Rican Driver's License

2009-08-07T15:53:00.000-07:00

So, last week, I decided to tag along with three friends (Jeni, Eric, and Jeana), who were headed to San Jose (the City) to take on one of the most difficult feats here in Costa Rica... obtaining a legal local driver's license. When it comes down to it, there really isn't much at all... if you have a valid driver's license from the states and a passport with an up-to-date stamp, they give you a driver's license. It's JUST THAT EASY. But is it?

Adam, another friend, traveled TWICE to San Jose, returning with nothing. By the way, San Jose is a 2.5 hour drive, which isn't much, except very few of us have cars that can make it that far, and so we're generally going at someone else's leisure, or we're taking the bus. And the bus doesn't take 2.5 hours. If it shows, it generally takes, well, more. So, on his third and final try, Adam finally returned with a license. (Of course it was his final... why would he return AFTER receiving his license?) (Actually, there might be good reason. I'll explain later.)

So, what is it about getting the license that is so difficult? In the states, it may take 30 minutes if you have to wait at that place on Classen where nobody seems to know who's next, or even next for what. But for the most part, it's easy... go, show ID, get a picture, pay $10, get a license. Well, here's the skinny...

FIRST, and it's hard to know that this is first without taking a poll and going with the majority, you must go to the doctor. And AT the doctor's office, you have to pay money. 10 THOUSAND colones (only $20, but still). Then you go and sit next to a doctor, who asks you if you can use both your arms, and if you're an alcoholic, your sexual preference (not true), and if you can see. He believes you for the most part, except for the vision thing, which he requires you to read line seven on the chart across the room (FTLGMZ). If you can, you pass. EXCEPT, he needs to know your blood type, and they DON'T just take your word for it. You have to go to the "laboratory", right next door, where you pay 5 THOUSAND more colones, a person take some blood, puts it in a vial, right next to everyone else's blood that was there before you, and tells you to wait. So you do. Eventually he comes out with a very serious looking half sheet of white paper that says on one side a letter, and on the other a mathematical symbol that modifies that letter. Only after returning this magical paper to the doctor who preformed his thorough evaluation to ensure you were safe to drive a motorized vehicle, does the doctor give you an official looking white piece of paper with his SIGNATURE on it, verifying that he, as a professional, believes you should be given a license to drive in this fair country.

But why the blood test? As it turns out, they put it on your license. Right next to where they show whether or not you are an organ donor. In case you haven't visited Costa and experienced the magnificent driving styles of locals and tourists alike, there is damn good reason to put these in bold red right next to your name, which seems unimportant, really. (Did you know magnificent was spelled with an "e" towards the end and not an "a"? Huh.)

So, to avoid making this blog take longer to read or write than it takes to get a driver's license here, I'll make it quick. After you have your medical slip, you take it and your passport, your driver's license, and a COPY of your passport and of your driver's license (if you don't have the copy, I kid you not, they shoot you) to a magical fortress called Cosevi, which is right next door to many doctor's offices. You talk to the guard, who tells you to skip the line at the door at the back of the facility, go straight to the guard at that door, tell him you need to see Dona Forget-Her-Name, who is on the second floor. I'm really not kidding about this. If you don't talk to that guard, you will waste a lot of time. You must go see Dona Forget-Her-Name first. Oh! And she only works until noon. Seriously. So, you go to the second guard, and he pretends he has no idea what you are talking about. Actually, he probably doesn't. So you ignore him, walk through, and go the second floor, where you sit in a chair. And wait. You're not sure if you should be waiting. But you do. And you wait. Finally, Dona FHN comes out of an office, after a couple of men have already checked to make sure you have your copies and your health certificate and what-not, and she says "Pase!" Which means enter. So you do. She doesn't say anything, just looks at it, signs your copies, puts some squiggly lines, and motions for you to leave.

You then go back to guard 2, who gives you a "ficha" (not sure what those little papers with numbers are called in the states), and then you wait. My number was three, and they were on number 51, and it takes a long time to go from number 51 to number 3. So, when your number comes up, you go to a guy (or girl), who asks you where you live (and he trusts you), and he enters in all your paperwork, and gives you another very small white piece of paper that you must then take all the way to the BANK where you must pay 4 THOUSAND colones, and then return, snake the line, return to the SAME guy who gave you the slip of paper, wait for him to finish with whoever he might be dealing with at the time, quickly slip in, give him the receipt that proves you paid, get your picture taken, and get your license. Of course, that's if you're lucky. By the time I got back from the bank, my little guy was gone. Perhaps to lunch. So I had to snake some other guy, who couldn't find my records, and sent me to some other girl, who also could not find my records, and so made them up (without my medical sheet), and gave me a license with no organ donor information AND no blood type. Which brings us to the reason why you MIGHT go back even after receiving a license. But I won't. Cause, honestly, I'm pretty sure they don't bother with that information anyway.

But, now I got my license. And WHY, you may ask? Why pay, in the end, 19 THOUSAND colones, when my Oklahoma license is perfectly valid as long as my passport stamp is up to date? Well, I could argue that it's better when the cops pull you over (which they do, at random stops, all the time). But that's not really why. I could say I didn't like my OK license picture, which is true. But not really a good enough reason. It's because it's cool. I have a Costa Rican driver's license. And I think that's pretty neat.

Maybe I need a hobby.

Right Now - 3/8/09 4:50 PM

2009-08-03T15:49:00.000-07:00

Feeling great. I'm sitting at the Soda Mary (again, neither a soda nor owned by Mary), with Jake and Honey. A few others sitting around. Chillin.

I've done very little in the last couple of days. After going to the contest on Saturday, I decided to just relax for a while. I surfed yesterday and determined I did not know how to surf (or at least had forgotten). I went out again today and determined I should have been in the contest - I surely would have been the favorite to win. I actually got barreled a bit today, for the first time ever. I didn't make it out, but got to experience the inside of a wave for a split second. And it was freaking awesome. The sound is unlike anything I had heard. It's kinda like the sound you hear with your ear up against a conch shell, but like it's constantly being pulled away, and surrounds you and overwhelms you as it sucks you in. It looks like a beautiful three dimensional waterfall, and the water on the inside is glassy like black ice. It's magical.

I've spent a lot more time alone over the past week or so, and I'm definitely feeling better. I've still been socializing a bit, got a good mix going on right now. I spoke with Trevor yesterday, and I am likely going to take a trip to Colombia to check it out. I also spoke with a friend here on Saturday night, and have a great option for work in this country. But, for right now, I'm really enjoying just being. Just taking time. Reading a bit of Tao of Pooh, listening to a bit of Enigma, catching a few waves. But mostly just chillin. And it's nice.

Surf Contest

2009-08-03T15:20:00.000-07:00

So the world championship of surf (or at least one of them) is this week in Hermosa. The parade of nations was on Friday of last week, and then the tournament started on Saturday. For the most part, it's been freaking hot. It hasn't been raining, which is strange for this time of year, and the heat and humidity are too much for me to want to even go watch the event. Still, I checked it out briefly.

The parade of nations was interesting largely in the difference among the nations. For example, all of the South Africans were wearing green blazers with some sort of patch on their chests, green ties, and white button-downs. Very proper. The Irish, on the other hand, were wearing different types of Patty's Day style hats, green shirts, and generally seemed drunk, but having a blast. By far the most lively and fun country was Jamaica, who had a guitar and were singing reggae, clearly stoned and unbelievably happy. Especially in comparison to the Americans. Now, don't get me wrong, the Puerto Rican team and the Hawaiian team (who clearly have no interest in identifying with our country and so have separated themselves) looked to be having a good time and happy to be there. But the Americans, the ones under the stars and stripes, looked miserable and uncomfortable. It was as if they had the attitude of being too good for this party and at the exact same time scared shitless to show any type of emotion, enjoyment, or character. And there weren't very many of them. I think some decided to not even show up for the parade of nations.

But in a way it shows our national character well. We still tend to believe we are better than everyone else, but on our pedestal, we are constantly too afraid to show an identity for fear others might view us as equals. Not that each individual is this way, but I've noticed as I have met a lot of people from other countries that they don't have the conservative self-preservation that we tend to. We're not alone, of course, but it just seems sad. And common. As soon as you start believing you are better than others, your ego requires you to maintain that, and you no longer have that divine spark because you are constantly worried that others might find that you are no better than they are. Worse, you might find that you are no better than they are. As long as we play conservatively, keeping our distance emotionally and physically, we will never find ourselves to be just another one of the masses. And yet by doing this, we become just another one of the masses, completely without our own flavor.

It was sad to see. But the parade was fun to watch. Especially those crazy Jamaicans.

The next day, I ended up being stuck in Jaco, and so I walked at noon from Jaco to Hermosa, alongside the highway in the hot hot hot hot hot sun. Adding to the sun was the line of cars, each spewing out exhaust, and the black highway absorbing the sun's rays. It was only a few miles, but man it felt like a long way. In the end, though, I beat the cars there by about 20 minutes. Walking from Jaco to Hermosa was far quicker on Saturday afternoon than driving.

But after making it to the beach, really I just wanted to walk around a bit, say hi to some friends, and make it back home. The beach is black, there were thousands of people, and the sun was scorching. It was good to see it was a success, but after a couple of hours, I decided to stay in Oeste and perhaps just do some surfing of my own. I've definitely found I prefer to be away from the crowds, in the surf, perhaps, instead of watching it.

SLOTH

2009-08-03T15:00:00.000-07:00

I'm reading Life of Pi right now (or was until I left it at the surf contest the other day). Although the first 50 pages seem to be a bit boring, and just a long defense of zoos, it did provide me with some good information about sloths, most of which I forgot and therefore couldn't provide to Scott when we came across this three toed sloth crossing the street between here and the highway. I grabbed my iPhone and shot a few pics as he crawled to and then up a barbed wire fence lining the road (he quickly realized that the post was rather uninteresting, and then decided to descend and find another lookout). (Quickly was not the right word to use in that last parenthetical statement). Here are a couple pics that I thought were freaking awesome. I've seen a few sloths down here, even one pretty close, but nothing like this.

For those of you that haven't seen one on the move, it's absolutely nothing like watching a giraffe run. That's all I got. It's also nothing like eating ice cream, which is delicious.

Right Now - 30/7/09 12:30 PM

2009-07-30T13:25:00.000-07:00

Still in Costa. Actually at the bar again. No more internet at the house where I was staying, so I have to sign in here or at the Soda.

I just got out of the waves on a pretty small and disorganized day. I have hardly been surfing at all lately. I figured I'd ONLY be surfing these days. Surfing and laying in hammocks, perhaps reading. But instead I am socializing. I'm out and about. I'm drinking and playing. And I'm feeling crappy.

I think I feel I've alienated myself. I feel like I have been someone else, or maybe myself, over the past few weeks and generally have been unlikable. I don't feel likable. I don't really like myself right now. Well, really I just haven't liked myself lately. Now I'm pretty cool with myself. Strange. Not sure what that's all about.

I think I'm falling back into old patterns, old habits, my old self. Even the way I put that, though, seems pretty judgmental. I haven't been very easy on myself, I've certainly been taking life too seriously, and I've been viewing myself through other people's eyes, feeding my ego instead of cultivating my self. I think it's about time to stop that. But it's hard! It's hard to stay here in Oeste instead of going to Hermosa and meeting up with friends or meet new people who are there now for the world championship of surfing.

Perhaps I am just uncomfortable. I've found it actually pretty difficult to just be for a little bit. I feel uneasy just hanging out, as if there is some sort of time constraint on life and I am not accomplishing what I should be in the amount of time given.

So, combine that with me basically being a dick lately, and I guess I feel guilty. I feel ashamed. I feel very not me. I'm going to stop doing that. I'm not okay with it.

On some good news... I have a lot of options these days. Trevor and Sarah came down to visit for a day or two. Trevor has offered me a job in Colombia, which immediately sounds attractive because, well, it's in Colombia. Which is where I was born. The job is in telecommunications, which is perfect for me, because I learned a lot about telecommunications while I was studying to become an astronaut after receiving my license in brain surgery a decade or two ago. But, it would have me living in the mountains. Not at the beach. And I love the beach. So does Jake. But Colombia does start with a C. And C is good enough for me. Plus, I would make more money. And with that money, I could avoid having to sell my leg for smack.

I've got some things working here too, which seem ideal. But still want to take a month off and travel. I think I'll buy a car (I'll have to sell my leg for that too) so Jake can come with me. Of course, then we'll only have one leg left to sell for food (or smack).

So, I'm going to eat some chicken wings and do some jumping jacks. That should be helpful. Oh, by the way, I wasn't born in Colombia. But my passport says I was. That leads to some fun sometimes on borders.

Cassandra

2009-07-30T08:23:00.000-07:00

So, there are three girls in town who have ended up here on the central Pacific coast of Costa Rica after spending the last five months traveling all over the world - from Bali to Europe to Africa. All of them are cool as shit. Three nights ago, though, one, Cassandra, decided late night to pick up a guitar being played by a friend and sing. And it was incredible. Absolutely incredible. I fell in love.

The next day we stole her from her friends, who didn't want to come from Hermosa to Oeste two nights in a row, and brought her to the Soda Mary where Brett was serving homemade chile and live local music. Cassie and I headed down to the Soda around 6:30. After a bowl or two of freakin deliciousness, people started picking up instruments. Lead largely by Cooper, who they say come from the band Blood Sweat and Tears, the town lit up. Shannon on the acoustic guitar, Beau on the bass, Legend Mike on the harmonica, backed up Cooper, whose voice seems to penetrate walls and gives the air of a true concert hall in the open setting at the Soda.

And then Cassie joined in. And I can't even express how sweet, soulful, powerful, and alive her voice is. And Cassie's sweet highs mixed with Cooper's solid lows was literally world class. As Jeni put it, it appeared that there were little tiny pink cartoon hearts popping all around me and Lee as Cassie's lyrics penetrated our souls. And it WAS like that. Little pink cartoon hearts and all. Just like in the movie "One Crazy Summer." (By the way, Jeni hasn't seen One Crazy Summer, where John Cusack plays a cartoonist falling in love with a singer, Cassandra!, and draws a cartoon image of himself falling in love with little pink hearts bursting all around him.)

But there was so much more there than Cassie. The town, at least that little corner, overflowed with love. The smiles, the laughs, the music, the chile... It all added to just a superb sensation that I hadn't felt in a little while here. A night that I will remember, for sure. And, of course, it was a Tuesday.

Nicaragua - Take 2

2009-07-30T07:27:00.000-07:00

So, got back from Nicaragua a couple of days ago. Our purpose was really just to get her a passport stamp, so there wasn't much pressure. This trip was particularly relaxing. Not a whole lot of doing, which is really nice these days.

We started off our first night in San Juan del Sur, where I have been before. We really wanted to go to the island of Ometepe, but couldn't make the last ferry on the first night, so settled for a cab ride into SJdS, where we had a really nice dinner on the beach and stayed at the Hotel El Puerto. After a mediocre breakfast the next morning at the famous "Big Wave Dave's", we negotiated a taxi back to Rivas to catch the ferry for Ometepe.

Side notes: I love negotiating here. Everything is negotiable, and it's generally pretty fun with low consequences for failure. For the cab ride back to Rivas, though, I was tired and didn't feel like negotiating after being offered a pretty fair price for the ride at the onset. Ashley wouldn't have it though, and told me I have to haggle. It reminded me of Monty Python's "Life of Brian," where Brian was comfortable with the asking price, but the vendor wouldn't let him go without haggling. In any event, as we almost got into the cab, I reneged on my agreement to price, offered 20% less, and as other cab drivers closed in hoping for a rebound, our driver reluctantly accepted quickly to ensure he didn't lose the fare. Sometimes it's really easy.

Also: Ometepe is a freaking awesome place. It's an island in the middle of the enormous fresh water Lake Nicaragua, and is comprised of simply two volcanoes and the lowlands formed by years of weathering. It's truly a unique and very special island.

Back to the trip though. Ashley and I, after taking an hour ride on an old wooden ferry hardly worthy of Lake Hefner, negotiated a ride with six new friends we found also trying to negotiate. We headed for Santo Domingo, which is more or less on the beach in between the two volcanoes. We spent the next couple of days relaxing in hammocks, swimming in the lake, playing gin rummy, and drinking rum. We stayed in a place called Buena Vista, which was more or less a super cheap hotel with a lot of hammocks. The rooms could easy be confused with rooms of a monastery, or of a crack house. I could envision a monk laying down to bed surrounded by the bar brick walls or a prostitute laying back after a hit (is that what they're called?) of heroin supplied by her pimp. In any event, it felt perfect. And it was. Christmas themed sheets and tarantulas and all. We managed a zip line outing, but other than that, did almost nothing. Sweet.

If anyone does make it to Ometepe, I would highly recommend the Buena Vista. But don't eat there. Trust me. Eat at Julia's, just a 30 meter walk from the Buena Vista. It's a tiny thatched hut with huge portions and good, typical flavor.

After a couple of days, we made our way back. Slowly. A wreck on the highway delayed us several hours, and it took us, all told, 13 hours to make it from Santo Domingo to Jaco, which is about 140 miles as the crow flies.

Like any trip, it seems the best part is coming home. It's good to be back. Might be nicer if I actually had a home, though. Maybe someday.

Finally Over MJ

2009-07-21T16:14:00.000-07:00

Well, it's taken me about a month, but I'm finally through grieving process. I've accepted that MJ is gone, and it's time to get on with my life. Of course, this blog has a lot of catching up to do, so I am going to do my best to, well, catch up. And catch up quickly...

So, here's some bullets:

Had my last day at work. Not that big of a deal actually. Felt good. Didn't have many emotions about it all, actually. And now I am officially retired.
Went home to meet my nephew, Ryan, and see friends and family. My brother, being the protective parent that he is, didn't let me see Ryan for a couple of days after my flight to make sure I didn't bring home some mysterious bug that could cause Ryan to turn out, well, like me. And we couldn't have that. But once I did get to meet him, WOW. He's like a peanut with arms and legs. And I fell in love. I actually had tears in my eyes while holding him, and I can't tell you why. He is magical.
Neil is still not doing heroin or beating his wife. It was wonderful to see so many friends again. Some quick highlights: Terry's girlfriend rocks; I creamed Neil and Aaron in Golden Tee while sipping some Manhattans (Aaron closed his liquor store to go play a round for old time sake); Mom, Dad, Step-dad, new Step-mom (and now step-grandmother), sons, Sister-in-Law, and nephew all in the same place at the same time without any karate chops; hitting the old spots with Doug; awesomeness with so many great friends. It was honestly wonderful. But, here's the thing, I had actually expected to feel a strong draw that might bring me back home. As wonderful as it was to go home, though, I felt completely at ease. It felt comfortable. And in some way, only comfortable. I felt like I had left the week before, not nine months. If anything, I think I realized that I am not moving back to Oklahoma now. Wherever the world may take me now, I don't think it will be back home. At least not yet.
I turned 30! At first it felt like 29, but as it sinks in, it's really pretty different. For example, and I am NOT making this up, in the ONE WEEK since I turned 30, I have grown 5 gray hairs on my chin. I kid you not. They were not there in my 20s, and they are definitely there now. Fascinating.
I went camping last week with a friend, Jen (not Jeni) down south of Dominical near a town called Uvita. Had a great time on the beach and at waterfalls. We slept in a tent with Jake on the beach (Playa Ventanas) after eating a home-grown meal at a hippie hotel in Uvita. Very cool. Jen has become a really close friend (BFF4E as we affectionately and childishly and redundantly say). Jake, by the way, is still the best dog ever (BDE, as we affectionately and childishly, but not redundantly say).
Heading to Nicaragua tomorrow with Ashley, and REALLY looking forward to it. Ashley needs her stamp, and after begging to go with her, she finally caved and agreed. We're hoping the bus around noon, and plan on staying for a couple of days on Ometepe, and island comprised of two volcanoes in the middle of Lake Nicaragua. Very cool.
I read Albert Camus' The Stranger, which I really enjoyed. It's said that Camus is existentialist, which doesn't really mean much to me given that I wasn't reading him for a class, but I did find that I really enjoyed the book and the main character (Mersault), I think, shows a truly detached person who is happy and comfortable with the world around him, even in times of absolute absurdity. I also loved his honesty, intellectually and emotionally, and his view of himself from the outside. He accepted the consequences of his actions, and sacrificed himself in an absurd world in order to be authentic. I actually found him a hero, and perhaps even enlightened. He chose death over dishonesty. He wasn't emotionless, by any means, but he didn't let his emotions, especially fears, compromise his authentic self. It was a quick, fun, and surprisingly meaningful read for me. Nice.

Since getting back to Oeste, I've basically not been doing quite like I thought I would. I have been helping out at the bar quite a bit, managing last weekend while Scott went for a passport stamp in Nicaragua, and filling in as a bartender here and there. I've also been doing stuff a little more than I'm comfortable with these days. I expected to be spending a lot of time alone, but find myself with friends and "out" most of the time. I blame the transition period, and do my best not to judge myself. I'll be alone and quiet when it's time for me to be alone and quiet. For now, it's fun to watch myself go back and forth, up and down. As it turns out, I'm pretty interesting when I pay attention.

Michael Jackson

2009-06-27T12:13:00.000-07:00

So, as the world knows, Michael Jackson died a couple of days ago. It actually made me sad. I was in serious disbelief when I was told, and had to turn to the never-lying internet to confirm the reports. And when I actually believed it, I felt sad. I felt like there was a big loss in this world. I grew up listening to Michael, and, as a child of the eighties, know probably 20 songs by heart. I always rooted for Michael, even through his tough times, and had hoped for his continued success in the tour planned in London in July. In any event, it's sad he's left, but I can't help but think he's probably more at ease now. And we still have his music. For that, I thank him. Cause I love me some Man in the Mirror and Dirty Diana.

So last night we had a celebration of Michael Jackson here at the bar. We had considered making a formal tribute night, but last night was organic. It sprung from nowhere (maybe me playing MJ for the past two days straight, maybe from some serious intoxication of two close friends). But we danced. And we listened to MJ all night. And we danced. It was another of those loving nights here at the bar. The nights that made it all worthwhile (as if the view didn't). It was nice to have one more before I leave. And it was nice that four of the five of the Pistachio crew were here. Pepper wore her Jackson Five t-shirt that was purchased at Ropa Americana on our roadtrip to Manuel Antonio. I sported the hat that I stole from someone on that same trip, and a latex glove from the kitchen (not a lot of glove options in Costa Rica, it seems). Very cool.

Here are some pics.

Oh, and as a side note. As I was waiting for the pics to upload, Scott and I played a couple of games of horseshoes. I took the gold, and as Scott put it "there's nothing wrong with Bronze." It seems as though our star center, Bubba, came in second in our round robin, in spite of not showing.

Neil

2009-06-25T19:18:00.000-07:00

So, a few days or weeks ago I introduced Neil. In that introduction, I noted that he was a good friend until he started doing heroine and beating his wife. And then I noted that that was not true.

I got a call from my Dad today, who told me he had heard that Neil is doing heroine and beating his wife. He doesn't read this blog.

So, first, I want to say sorry to Neil.

Secondly, I want to make it VERY clear that Neil does NOT do heroine NOR beat his wife. At least not at the same time.

Third, I want to make it VERY clear that Neil also does NOT do heroine AND beat his wife at the same time. As far as you know.

Sorry Neil. I hope this doesn't have any lasting effects on your business or your social life (if you had one to begin with). As for those of you that I love but can't read or understand a joke (I do love you Merry), PLEASE call everyone you know. And I mean EVERYONE you know. And let them know that Neil, while a poor whistler, does NOT shoot up NOR abuse his wife, whether simultaneously or sequentially.

I can't believe I had to write this blog.

Meet the New Manager - Scott

2009-06-24T16:02:00.001-07:00

This is Scott. AKA Poynter. AKA Scotty ViP. AKA Deubler. AKA Mr. LowTide Lounge.

Scott is taking over as manager of the LowTide, effective Sunday. Sunday. Sunday. Scott hails from Antarctica, although has spent many of his formative years floating on a raft in the middle Pacific, bartering with seagulls for scraps of food and news from the South. Scott was raised by his mother, Shaniquia Maleeka, which literally translated means "Shaniquia Maleeka", and his father, Frank. Following a short career in the circus, Scott found his first calling as the head of the Society of Hitmen and International Transvestites, but after three years was fed up with SHIT and started his own business in sales and marketing of clothes made from leftover fish parts. In spite of selling literally billions of dollars of clothes, Scott's entry into business came to a screeching halt when, after two years, Scott's "buy now pay later" plan failed after thousands of seagulls filed for Chapter 11 protection and their debt to Scott's company was sold for pennies on the dollar. Embarrassed and defeated following the complete failure of his venture, the worthless and pathetic Scott found his way to Costa Rica. Following a brief stint as forward and co-captain of the Esto Pistachios (who dribbled their way to a impressive 1-0 record), Scott convinced his teammate and co-captain to quit his absolutely wonderful job on the beach, and minutes later, coincidentally accepted the very same job.

Scott has spent the last few days proving himself as the Senior Vice President of Dish Management Operations and Gasoline Retrieval (SVP DMOGR) here at the LowTide, quickly working through the ranks to find himself in position to take over the grueling tasks of wandering around the bar aimlessly, hanging hammocks between the trees for an afternoon nap, and flirting with pretty girls.

We wish you luck Scott. Good luck.

Right Now - 20/6/06 9:08 AM

2009-06-20T08:08:00.000-07:00

Just opened the bar. And I'm at the bar. Surprise. Waiting for the tide to come in a bit more, hoping for some surf. I have not surfed hardly at all in the past two weeks. Not sure what's going on there. But it's time to change.

I'm feeling okay. I had a great dinner and drinks with a good friend and coworker last night, Pepper. We ate at Karen's (Almendros), which is absolutely delicious. We talked about everything from love to love. She's on a mission to move to Australia to be with her boyfriend, Oz, who is in the process of moving there now (he's in New York for a week or two stop before heading down).

We talked about my direction too. I told her how I always have this feeling of wanting to move back to Oklahoma, but it's never now. It's always in a few months that I feel I want to move back. I wonder if it will ever be now when I move back. Pepper is of the opinion (although neither of us like that word) that I should absolutely not move back. "Keep moving forward. You're bigger than Oklahoma." Not that she has anything against Oklahoma, at all. I think she is of the opinion that I am somehow destined to do more, or at least something different, than have a job, a house, a car, a family, and Friday night dinners at Applebee's.

But here's the thing: I've always been a homebody (albeit my life experience and considerable travel suggest otherwise). When I went to college, I would come home to Oklahoma on my Spring Breaks, not down to Cancun for a two week bender. On the trips to Europe or Africa or Colorado, the best part was always coming home, to Oklahoma. Oklahoma is comfortable. And when I'm away from Oklahoma, I'm literally uncomfortable. Always. Not surprisingly, the one thing that I center my focus on when considering what I miss the most living in Costa Rica is curling up with a nice, thick, soft, smooth faux-down comforter.

Hanging on Neil and Megan's couch, whether they're there or not. Sitting around a chiminea on cool nights, crashing at Terry's when I've had too much to drink, holding my girlfriend as I fall asleep in my clean, open, air-conditioned room. Dog parks, foosball, tippy-cup, office, computer, cell phone, car, weekends, lakes, Mamasita's with Doug, Ranch Party Weekends, horseshoes, televisions, movie theaters, hookers, sweaters, baseball, golf, sailing. That's comfortable. (You might have noticed one didn't seem to fit. And it doesn't. I hardly ever went to the movie theater.)

So, but those are all external comforts, of course. I don't think I've reached that comfort that follows me wherever I am. And perhaps it's because I can't rid myself of external comforts. I'll never rid myself of support. Sure, I'm more comfortable at home in Oklahoma, but I am comfortable here. While I thought I didn't have anything when I moved down, it turns out I had everything. I moved here with a thousand bucks and a job. And my education, personality, intellect, hands. And I moved to a place with people, and any time I'm around people, I'll be able to make it out alright. I'll have places to stay, ways to make money and get food. And even if I get away from people, and have no food and no money, I'm always just a phone call away from getting a flight back to home. And so I'll always have support. I'll never be able to have nothing. I'll always have external comfort.

I guess having external comforts doesn't stop a person from being comfortable simply with one's self. It can't... there will always be some external comforts. We can't be alone in this world, we can't be without food. We can always seek solitude and fast, but that doesn't mean that people and food aren't available to us. And that's a comfort.

So, do I follow now what is comfortable, or do I do I keep going forward (here in Oeste, or somewhere else), perhaps until I am comfortable with myself? Perhaps there is a middle way.

And that's enough for now. I'm going to go surf. The waves are shitty, but I need to get out there (this isn't Russia, Danny). Solstice is today (a surf competition in Hermosa). Perhaps I'll try to swing by that. I haven't felt like doing anything lately. And I find myself feeling the same way right now. Oh well.

Going to Have to Change my Profile

2009-06-18T10:41:00.000-07:00

About a week ago, one of the owners of the Lowtide threatened me in a way that he hadn't threatened me before - far more seriously and far more viciously. Thomas, who is an intelligent, good looking, talented guy, has quite seriously an alter ego, known as Skinny, who thinks of himself as a gangster. Skinny tends to, well, in my opinion, be a complete fucking asshole. Which must absolutely suck for Thomas, who is kind and compassionate, and has to live with these demons inside of himself. While it was unlikely he would back up his threats with action, he's unpredictable, and has certainly acted on his threats in ways that are, frankly, unbelievably violent. His threats and taunts led me, for the first time, to feel unsafe at work, or even at home. And so I took my things out of the office, found a safe place for my meager belongings, and slept at a place that a) wasn't at home; and b) wouldn't get someone else involved. Basically, I just didn't want him to come looking for a fight when he got out of jail that night. (He had been put in jail for basically trying to fight everyone in town, using this bar as a home base and directing his anger at the bar across the street and everyone in it, including the cops.)

I forgave Thomas right away. Even during the threats and taunts, and the absurdity of his actions around this relatively tranquil town that night, I held no anger towards him. Well, some. I had visions of teaching him a lesson. But I realized that it's not my job to help him. It's not my job to change him. It's not my job to teach him a lesson. If I fought back, it wouldn't be for him, of course, it would be for my pride, for my ego. And it might end up getting me shot or at least with some broken facial bones with a side of recurrent terrorizing. Realizing how silly it would be for me to do anything other than nothing felt good. I do have an ego to protect, but I don't WANT to have the ego in the first place, so protecting it would be the opposite of what I want to do. And I'm certainly not in the business of changing other people, nor do I believe I could change him if I were in the business. It's not my fight... it's his. And so I took precautionary measures, and did nothing but stick around to give immediate permission for our staff to leave if things got even more out of control.

I also decided to resign that evening.

While I forgave Thomas immediately, feeling unsafe at work, and being threatened at work, by my boss of all people, is not something I want. And God knows I don't need, well, anything. Certainly not this job. I love it here, but I'm kindof of the opinion these days that I can love it anywhere.

The next day I called the other owners and let them know that I planned to resign, although I wouldn't leave the bar empty handed. I was willing to stay for a bit to get the bar on solid ground before I took off, as long as the threatening owner wasn't around. I had been informed that Thomas took off for the states the morning after he was put in jail, and so I felt safe without him around.

My other bosses quickly bought out the problem, transferring money to Thomas for his shares in the bar and to my satisfaction, and I now feel safe here and in my house. Thomas didn't appear to be returning any time soon either. Perhaps resigning isn't something I need to do. I do love it at this job. There are some wonderful aspects: I'm on the beach. I can surf almost any time I want. I meet people from all around the world. I get a lot of attention from pretty girls. I love my house, Pepper the cat, being barefoot at work, watching the waves, Randall and the girls, Flaco, Shane and Sam. Did I mention the attention from girls?

But here's the thing, given all those wonderful things about this job, when I resigned I felt relieved. I felt excited. I felt, sorry Bob, good.

After receiving an apology note from Thomas, indicating that he no longer has anything to do with the business and he has no intentions on returning any time soon, I decided to take a couple of days to decide whether or not I would resign. I no longer felt unsafe at work, but the light that I felt when I did decide to resign was worth investigating, and I wanted to take some time to check in with myself after the ownership change. I felt as though both my intellect and my emotions were making the case for me to keep it. Although some emotions, especially the excitement I felt about not knowing what comes next, seemed to argue on the side of confirming my resignation. In any event, there was new information with regard to Skinny's absence from the bar, and I wanted to give myself time to make a decision with the new information in hand.

And so on Sunday I gave my final decision. Not based on thinking, not based on emotions, but based on something else. And I can't even define what it is. I guess it's a "gut" feeling, not instinct, but intuition. Not learned, I don't think, but instead some unlearned something that perhaps takes information fed to it by my intellect, emotions, body (or perhaps not) and gives me some feeling, although non-emotional, on which I now base my decisions on (or at least the big ones). In a way, it's a leap of faith for something I know nothing about. That "intuition" as I call it could, in fact, be some alien race that has implanted a "non-emotional gut feeling" chip in my left earlobe. I think that's unlikely, but I literally don't know. And yet I value this "feeling" these days above all else, above my super-smart intellect, or my passionate emotions, or even my strong and yet fragile body. I guess that's called surrendering.

And I have surrendered to resigning. In spite of it all, I'm leaving the bar. No plans - no plans to leave Oeste, no plans on where I'll live, or if I'll work, or where I'll work if (when) I do. I once had a friend, I believe from Australia, who carried around a business card. It said "No Job, No Home, No Money, No Worries." I dig it.

And so the 27th will be my last day. On the 29th I'll head to Oklahoma to meet my nephew, Ryan, and perhaps say hi to family and friends (which I can't WAIT to do). I'll come back on the 3rd, and then we'll see. I'll be able to stay in my house for another few weeks, and perhaps even use the car when it is available. But only for a few weeks. Then I'm - I want to use the word "free" here. I guess I am free now. I guess we're all always free, and just don't realize it. Perhaps it still doesn't feel that way. Interesting.

In any event, I'm excited. The world is open again, and I'll let it take me wherever it takes me. I'm just along for the ride. Cool.

Right Now - 13/6/09 2:14 PM

2009-06-13T13:14:00.000-07:00

The rain is moving across the ocean heading in our direction with a puff of breeze leading the way to shore. I'm just starting to feel small sprinkles that have been swept up in the wind fall on my face and arms. The air is cool and crisp, something that I find rare and inviting here. The rain, only a stone-throw's distance from the beach, is teasing the dry land as it seesawsin its approach, while only providing moisture to the already wet saltwater. It seems as if the sea and the rain are mocking the land, reminding it that it needs the water to live, while the water needs no land.

I'm trying not to think too much. I had a great night last night in Atenas. Ozzie, one of the five in our roadtrips, is moving to Australia. He's heading out today. I'll miss him. Enormously. And I would imagine Pepper is not far behind. She's in love. Which is beautiful.

Scott, Jeni, and I will be the remaining three of the five, and I feel like we've grown closer and closer. We just have a way about us that I love. We're good for each other.

MICHAEL AND HAYDEN HAD THEIR SON!!! Woohoo! Ryan Smith. My nephew. I'm flying home in two weeks to meet him. As his uncle. Uncle Brian. Crazy ass Uncle Brian. I like it. And I LOVE him. Already. I saw a picture. He's like a person, only much much smaller. I can't WAIT to see him in person. I love my family (the blood one) so much right now.

So, I just wrote a LOT about something else pretty important in my life, but decided to wait. I have a big decision coming up tomorrow, and I'm excited as hell about it. But I'll wait until tomorrow to share. In the meantime, I'm going to think about Ryan and Michael and Hayden. Cool. Maybe I'll go visit them on my hammock. I wonder if they'll feel that I'm visiting them. Doesn't matter.

Full Moon Party

2009-06-13T12:03:00.000-07:00

So, it's been about a week, but I wanted to write about something cool. Last Sunday we had our sixth Full Moon Party here at the bar. Every month I generally wait until the last minute to find entertainment, decide on what specials we'll have, and even who will work at what has become the biggest event we have at the bar. Starting in December of last year, we offered trashcan punch and had an IPod playing on a rented sound system. Since, we've had some great bands and DJs, huge fires, a variety of shots, visitors from all over the central Pacific coast and tourists from around the world. It's not particularly famous outside of our little village here, but it's a damn fun evening.

This time it seemed we might be headed for another IPod night, but two days before the big night I heard a cool DJ at a club in Jaco, and decided to hire him for the evening after liking what I heard. I always get a little stressed as the FMP approaches. I am always worried that the entertainment won't show up. Or they will, and then the people won't show. Or they will all show, and people won't have fun, and then they won't come the next time. But, it seems, things have always worked out. And they certainly did on Sunday.

We only had about 70 people here, smaller than the last one where we had almost 100, but 70 is still a very good number for this bar. The DJ showed, and started a little off, but by 8:00, people started dancing. As always, we had a very cool mix of people. Old, young, gringo, tico. The music was mixed well too. American classics, hip hop, latino. Add a few good looking girls to the mix, and people had fun. And I had fun.

I didn't start dancing until perhaps 11:00, but we didn't stop until almost 3:00. Pepper and Shilka were behind the bar with me, but after about 11:00, Pepper took off, and Shilka and I traded off turns on the dance floor. Perhaps there were only about 15 or 20 of us after midnight, but we filled the bar with fun. Flaco, our guard here at the bar, certainly wins the most fun award. He was dancing, or shall we say grinding, with half a dozen very attractive girls on the dance floor, soaking it up like he was the king of the world. And for a few sweet minutes, he was.

Good, clean, drunk, sweaty fun.

Death and Grammar

2009-06-09T08:57:00.000-07:00

So it started with Buddha. In Chopra's novel of the Buddha's life, which is very entertaining, he graphically describes the struggle the Buddha went through to become "enlightened." And when the Buddha surfaced as a buddha, he surfaced completely without attachment, to anything at all. As I was contemplating this, I believe I realized that I am not only attached to an enormous amount still in my life, but I think I am still attached to the attachment. I don't think I am ready to give up all attachments like the Buddha did, and perhaps Byron Katie has done, even it is far easier than what the Buddha went through to do it. Even if someone offered me a pill to give up all my attachments, I'm not sure I would take it.

For example, my face. I like my face. And I make decisions that are perhaps dishonest to myself to save my face when it is threatened with a fight. I like what my face does for me. I like looking at my face in the mirror and noticing how unbelievably attractive I am. I like that people are more interested in talking to me because I am ridiculously good looking. I like that it's easier for me to get a job, make friends, attract ladies. I don't take any credit for my perfect bone structure, and so I have no pride in it really, I just like that I have it, and I find myself quite attached to it. It's not that I believe I would not be happy without my awesome appearance, it's just I prefer it to, say, being homely. Or at least I think I do, because in the times when I am not as attractive, I feel less happy.

So, that's just one example, and it's a clear preference and an attachment that limits my freedom. Because I prefer to look the way I do, I fear losing the way I look, and that fear limits the decisions I can make. I would guess I have billions of little attachments. My intelligence, my ability to see, walk, hear, talk, skip, surf, smell, feel. Certainly less attachments than before, but still billions. And here's the kicker. I think I might like them. I am actually even starting to enjoy the negatives of these attachments. The pain, the anger, the longing. As I was talking to Kris last night, it occurred to me that becoming enlightened seems to me to similar to death. It is, in a way, overcoming the human experience, which I believe we will do when we die. So here's the question, why speed up the process? Why not enjoy the human experience as it is: human. Why not be human in the short time that we have to be human? With attachments, with anger and pain and suffering and love and pleasure and jealousy and lust and passion and infatuation and heartbreak and lies and manipulations and theft and generosity and selflessness and charity and return and cars and houses and money. All of those attachments and preferences and cares that we'll no longer experience, perhaps, when our human experience ends.

But perhaps that is just it. Perhaps that is exactly what makes a buddha. Perhaps that what enlightenment, if that's what you call it, really is: being okay with with it all. Maybe my understanding of it was WRONG, and what the Buddha and Byron Katie found wasn't actually overcoming the human experiencing. Maybe is was about enjoying the anger. Enjoying the pain. Enjoying the suffering. Enjoying all of the human experience. Accepting. Enjoying our short human experience knowing that it's not really real. Highs and lows that we won't experience when we return to the universe.

Last night I was reading Buddha a bit more before bed, after my conversation with Kris, and the Buddha says, after becoming a buddha, that the more he struggled to become enlightened, the further and further he got. The harder the struggle to be holy, the more the ego was strengthened. He said something that hit me very hard: it's not a war that you can win. Becoming a buddha is not about war with your ego, your body, the human experience. If you go to war with you as a human, you can't win because no matter how hard you try, you can not bring your human experience with you into heaven. It can never fit through the gates. I was too tired to read much, but I'm fascinated how this plays out. I'm not even sure if I read it as it was intended, but I'm fascinated by it. Our human experience will always be a human experience, filled with the human roller-coaster. Trying to force our human experience to be attachment free, to be holy, is impossible. In fact! That would actually cause it to no longer be a human experience! The harder we try, the further we get from actually freeing our souls because we actually mistake our souls for this part of our human experience that, acting like our souls, tries to free our human experience from being human! Awesome. If it WERE possible to win that war, we WOULD die! Our humanity would no longer be human. What a waste!

So, maybe my direction will change. I don't know. It feels pretty good. The Buddha spent 15 years of self punishment, pain, and suffering trying to kill himself without dying, and perhaps came out realizing that it's impossible. You can't kill your human experience and still be human. Perhaps he realized that it would be so much easier to just kill yourself if you want to end your human experience. So where does enlightenment lie? Lay? I've never been good with those. And how do you refer to a cat that belongs to both me and Jerry? "Jerry's and my cat?" Is that right? Sounds funny. I wonder if that is what those girls were laughing about. And who's Jerry?

Even if it were possible to kill myself without dying, I don't think I'd want to. It would hurt a lot, and I kinda want to enjoy being human for as long as I am human. Whatever that may bring, for as long as it does. Now where did I put my swimming pool?

Isn't this journey fun? DAMN this is cool.

Right Now - 9/6/09

2009-06-09T08:26:00.000-07:00

Right now, I'm sitting at the bar (surprise). Got four customers here for breakfast, and I'm about to have one of our breakfast burritos, which may be the best in the world (behind the SuperSonic Breakfast Burrito, of course). I'm feeling pretty happy. Pepper (the cat) came to work with me today, so the whole family is here. She's been acting a bit like a dog lately, and I find it endearing. She follows me and Jake home at night from the bar, trotting along like she's part of the pack. Very cute.

It's overcast again. It's gotten to the point where it rains at least some every day, but it's still not usually raining. I haven't been out surfing lately, I guess just giving myself a break. Instead I'm reading a lot. I'm most of the way through Buddha by Deepak Chopra, which is a damn fine novel. I'd highly recommend it, to anyone really. It may be kinda like The Shack of Buddhism. It's a story of the Buddha's life, and Deepak is a really excellent storyteller. I'm also most of the way through 1000 Names for Joy by Byron Katie (why is her last name first?). I'm also most of the way through two or three other books. I can't remember the last time I finished a book, come to think of it. Interesting.

Today I have to make a run to Jaco, but plan on finishing Buddha first. Right now, I'm settled. I certainly wasn't, though, last weekend. I felt like I was going through withdraws all weekend, which was strange. I partied hard on Thursday night and didn't have any beer or cigarettes or anything until late Sunday night, and I felt rather shitty. Not sure if it was withdraws or just recovering from a long long night on Thursday, but in any event it sucked. Feeling better again, though. Happy about that.

Spoke with my dad yesterday for the first time in a long time. He kindly offered to fly me home for my birthday to see Ryan when he's born (my first nephew). I may take him up on it. We'll see. I've also been talking a lot with Kris lately, which has been really nice. She seems to be pretty joyful these days, and it rubs off. She sent me a picture of the cats (Grizz and Mav). Missing those guys.

I exchanged a couple of emails with Allison Petrone recently, which was the first time we've really communicated in years. She called a couple of months ago and let me know that she has forgiven me. It caused a mix of emotions in me, many ego driven, but they all ended up in one place: an opportunity to have her back in my life, which is something I cherish. And for that, I thank her.

So, I've got some interesting things on my mind right now that I want to put into a separate blog. I'll get to it.

Right Now, Time, and Torn

2009-06-02T10:58:00.001-07:00

Right now I am sitting in an internet cafe in Jaco, waiting to have a meeting with a guy named Cesar so I can get some t-shirts and beer coozies in the bar. I feel, more than anything, cool. I'm spoiling myself in AC, and I'll probably regret it later. But BOY does it feel good. I also feel suspicious. Are the girls behind the counter laughing because they know something I don't?

I had an interesting experience last night as I was talking with a friend after dinner. For the first time, I saw time in a totally new way. And I am going to try to explain it, in spite of it being a little strange. I saw the present as the sum as my memory of the past, my observation of the present, and my view of the future. It was as if I was seeing an entire movie in just one instant. And the next instant, there was a whole new movie, a whole new past, present, and future. I think it was spurred by really recognizing that the past, present, and future are all just illusions. They are all just the way I view them or intrepret them. And each second they all change, and a whole new movie starts (and ends!). It was as if there is no past and no future, they only exist in this instant, and then they are gone as soon as this instant is gone. It was cool. Strange, but very cool. A cow walked by on the road a moment later, and I knew his future, at least his future in that particular instantaneous movie, because it was whatever I thought it would be. And my knowledge of his future in that instant was just as valid as my knowledge of his present, which is just as valid as my knowledge of his past. Which, in a way, isn't actually real. It's all just the way I imagine it. Strange.

I've found myself again in conflict. Two sides of me pulling in three different directions. First is this very tranquilo all loving "spiritual" side. It finds beauty and ease. It laughs and loves and forgives and accepts - everything. It prefers to be unattached to everything. It claims to be open to the real reality, and the opening of this reality will free it from the unknown. It claims to be fearless, too, not even of death. It perhaps believes happiness is just loving one's self, or freeing one's self, or accepting the world. It's influenced by de Mello, Byron Katie, Tolle, and the like, so it's not quite original, but it comes up with some really interesting revelations from time to time. It feels true. It feels right. But then there's my other side, that creeps in sometimes late at night, sometimes early in the morning, sometimes in the middle of the day.

My other side, which my "spiritual" side labels my ego, or my programming, or my dark side, or my patterns, is quite convincing. It has a lot of weapons. While the spiritual side uses mystics, meditation, beauty, and laughter, my ego tends to rely on emotions (sadness, fear, infactuation, lonliness, sentimentality) as its weapons. It uses my memory in its defense, and remembers the wonderful times we had with Kris, the cats, the dog, Neil, Megan, and all of our other sweet sweet friends. It uses memories of cruising in the Caribe, skiing in Aspen, thick steaks at the Boulevard. It has behind it all of these wonderful, sweet, loving memories. And if the sentimentality isn't working on my ego's behalf, than it turns in the other direction. Still fighting on the same side, it uses memories of popularity, power, drugs, fast cars, rock star lifestyles that I maybe only tasted briefly in a few places here and there. This morning I felt anger, which I have started to feel from time to time again, and my god, it actually felt good. I actually liked it. I missed it. Or maybe I didn't, but when I felt it again, it felt almost like a relief. So, ¿what in the hell is up with that? (This keyboard is the first tico keyboard I have used, and it has the upside-down question mark, and so I wanted to use it.) (And the apostrophe is in the wrong place, 'cause they never use apostrophes, so that's weird, and the spell check on this computer doesn't work so I don't know how to spell apostrophe.)

So, here I am questioning. I miss Neil. Not just Neil, but in a way, he kinda represents that whole other life, with or without him in it. Neil, for those of you that don't know, was a close friend before he started using a lot of heroine and started beating his wife. No, that's not true. He's a close friend that I've lived with in three states over the past 10 years. He's married to Megan, and they are expecting, and she does a good job at hiding the bruises. They live in Oklahoma City by Lake Hefner, where I once taught sailing lessons to kids when I... enough. Perhaps I identify that former me as being Neil, in a way. He's perhaps the reminder, a reference point for where that life might have been going. Kris doesn't work as a reference point because her life changed too much when we broke up for me to use it as a "could be there." Of course, my spiritual side recognizes that nothing could have happened differently, because it didn't. Things can not be different today because they are not. So there's never really any regret, there's never any should have. It's more of a pull back today.

And I think it stems from this: ¿which is actually real? ¡Ha! I love Spanish and its crazy upside-downedness. But seriously, who's deluded? Is there a life with love, acceptance, happiness, all in any circumstance? Is the pain and suffering coming from a delusion that things should be different, as if they COULD? -OR- Am I deluding myself into thinking that everything is okay as it is? Am I shielding myself from the truth that things are not perfect, that they could be different, and I should fucking do something about it? Who's the crazy one: the one who is happy or the one who suffers? And does it matter? I guess I know at least one of me is crazy. The other one is fine, I'm sure, in spite of the fact that it believes there are two of me.

And I'm off to order some t-shirts from Cesar. What are those girls LAUGHING about?

Costa Rica Meets Tippy Cup (Flip Cup, Flippy Cup)

2009-05-27T08:38:00.000-07:00

Yes, in true Oklahoma fashion, we brought team tippy cup to Costa Rica. We only had teams of three - The Lowtide Crew consisting of Shane, Pepper, and me versus the "From-Aways", as they would be called in Maine. For those of you that don't know, the game consists of aligning plastic cups in front of each of the players, and filling each plastic cup with a certain amount of beer depending on how drunk you want to get and how fast. We used 1/3 beer cups. The game starts when a member of each team, after plenty of downright abusive taunting, raise their cups, tap them together, and begin chugging their contents. After finishing the beer in the cup, a team member places the cup upside-up on the edge of the bar and begins attempting to flip the cup perfectly on to its other side, landing on the bar upside-down. As soon as this feat is accomplished, the next member of his team begins to chug the contents of the cup in front of him before attempting to flip his cup. The process is repeated until the final member of the team successfully flips his cup onto its bottom, thereby crowning that team as the winning team if the opposing team has failed to do so beforehand. We played that the losing team had to buy the next round of beer, but the penalty for loss can range from forced consumption to requiring a "loser dance," frequently seen in Oklahoma as the penalty for a loss in anything ranging from tippy cup to foosball to horseshoes. Neil has it perfected. And yes, there's a reason for that.

In any event, it was a fun night. Pepper, who was meant to tend bar, probably got the drunk award, but I was definitely not far behind. We all had a great time in spite of the drunken staff. And I'm pretty sure the other patrons of the bar enjoyed the sloppy service that began somewhere in the third or fourth round.

Today, BBQ at my house with some newish friends. That should be fun.

Jessica Rabbit

2009-05-26T10:05:00.000-07:00

So, a friend quoted one of the best movies ever the other day: the groundbreaking "Who Framed Roger Rabbit." I didn't remember the quote, but thought it was perfectly in line with my philosophy these days. In the words of Jessica Rabbit, "I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way." Brilliant. On so many levels.

Helping Others

2009-05-26T08:37:00.000-07:00

So, I was having a conversation with Eleanor on the hill perhaps 10 days ago, and we started talking about Byron Katie. I was giving her a completely incomplete synopsis of what Katie argues in her book that I am reading now. Basically, I find that Katie argues, like many of the other authors that I am reading, that a human being can be happy in absolutely any situation if one is totally aware of the truth. By questioning whether we actually NEED things to change in order to be happy, we find it to be untrue, that we actually don't NEED a thing to be happy, we can just be happy. Katie has found for her that if she just accepts the world and herself just as they are, without the need for change or comparing to some world that does not exist, she starts to love the world and herself exactly as they are. If we are able to stop our war against reality, we can be happy regardless of the what reality holds. Of course, I find a lot of her thoughts to be true and help me to put into an intellectual framework that which I already know non-intellectually.

Eleanor's feeling is that Katie is another of those Western civilization, easy-lifers, and while all this stuff may be true for those of us who don't have to worry about getting shot or raped today, it's not the same for those living in, say, Somalia, where you are faced daily with starvation, dirty water, illness, violence, and a handful of other pretty serious things. And here's my thought: maybe she's right. I don't know. But it's in my opinion that Eleanor is not perfectly happy. She has plenty of stresses in her life right now without having to worry about being taken hostage by guerillas. And there's something that I can't quite intellectualize there, but I'm going to try.

Even in our Western civilization with our cars and medicine and law and water, most people at least sometimes are quite miserable. Some are miserable a lot of the time, whether they admit it to themselves or not. In any event, with all this, we still suffer. And this brings up two points:

First, we're not that much different from the Somalis. In spite of all of the ease we have in our worlds, we still have the potential to suffer. It seems to me that the problem is not with external circumstances because of the across the board suffering, even if one has everything one needs and is not in physical danger at any time. And enlightened people seem to be from every environment too. Siddhartha Buddha was a prince. But he renounced his throne and spent several years starving and suffering in order to reach enlightenment. His story actually actually argues the opposite of Eleanor's claim. Jesus was persecuted and eventually hung on a cross, and yet was happy. Jesus argued directly that it is easier to find heaven if you are poor. Even Byron Katie has had her share of misfortune: the death of a child, cancer, blindness. So, it just seems like the key to happiness has nothing to do with your surroundings. And in fact, it may even be easier to find that key to happiness if you do suffer greatly.

Second, I find so many people in the Western culture who seem to be just like Eleanor: Before finding an end to their own suffering, they have already turned to try to ease the suffering of others in "worse" situations. I guess I question anyone who thinks that they can show someone a place that they themselves have never seen. They want to bring people out of their suffering, perhaps to a world more similar to their own, where they haven't even been able to find an end to suffering. It's as if those people are bringing a person from a world of suffering to just another world of suffering where, at least according to Jesus, it is actually more difficult to find the key to end one's suffering.

Perhaps we all suffer in the Western world because we have too much guilt to even attempt to end our suffering. Perhaps if we would take the time to end our own suffering, we would find at least one path to that end, and perhaps then we can judge whether or not it works for the Somalis. In the meantime, I just don't find it possible to point to happiness and say "go over there". I think the only way we can ease the suffering of others is to bring them in to where we already are, when and if we ever get there. And if we haven't found a path that works, I would bet there are a lot of Somalis that might be able to show us their path.

Danielle's Camera

2009-05-26T08:33:00.000-07:00

Okay, a new friend of mine, Danielle, was staying at my place for a few nights this week. On Thursday as she was leaving, she realized that her very expensive camera was missing. It was in a red bag that she had moved from the floor onto a bench that morning, but it was no longer in the bag as she was taking it out of the house on Thursday evening. It appears to have been stolen.

But then there are some really strange things. First, there was no sign at all of B&E. Which it is very tough to break into my house without, well, breaking in. Second, the camera was stolen OUT of the bag. The bag was not stolen. Why wouldn't they just grab the bag and run? And there's more... the lenses and the charger were in the bag and also taken. But again, why not just take the bag, especially if you are going to unload almost all of its contents? And more, her computer was totally exposed right next to the bag and left untouched. There was cash in the bag that was left untouched. Cash, untouched. There was jewelry and her passport all right there, and nothing was touched but the camera and the camera equipment. All of my stuff, throughout the house, all still there. Crazy.

It's been a few days now, and no sign of the camera. Nor is there any explanation. She's sure it was stolen from the house. And I guess therefore it was, but how strange is that?

Right Now - 26/5/09 9:25 AM

2009-05-26T08:23:00.000-07:00

Right now I have just finished opening up the bar, and thinking about perhaps having some breakfast. I feel content, tired, and a little anxious. I don't feel very deep this morning, I feel very surface. I haven't written in a while, which means I've been busy. I've filled my free time with surfing lately instead of reading or writing. The bar has been doing okay over the past few days, and so I've been here helping out a lot. Shane is back in town, so I have a roommate again, which I don't particularly like, but I'm grateful that I have a place to stay, and I can always move out if I prefer.

I've been a little moody lately, especially over the past few days. I think it's a sign of me not taking time just to do nothing. I'm still not good at just being even while doing, so I think I need to make sure to take some time without any activities at all.

Life these days is pretty good, overall, though. I don't have any things in my life causing stress. I think I have anxiety just because I haven't really taken the time to take account of myself and my life, so the anxiety is about not knowing if I am missing something. Perhaps I know that I am, and I am purposely hiding from it by doing over the past week. We'll see. I'll take some time today. But first, I have a lot of things I'd like to blog about, so this is the first of perhaps several today...

Boomerang

2009-05-17T08:08:00.000-07:00

So, a couple of weeks ago, a new dog started showing up around this ghetto. Eleanor, I believe, first picked him up and brought him home, and Pat printed up some signs to find his owner. It was clear the dog was loved, as he is a sweet dog, so we put up signs around town. He speaks English, and is well mannered for the most part, but not partly obedient. In any event, he stayed at Randall's for a couple of nights, and then at my place for a couple of nights, and then Jeni decided she wanted to keep him. We jokingly named him Spike, and then quickly changed it to Scout, largely because he has a tendency to wander. Which would soon become a problem...

About a week ago, a friend, Lee, was in the bar, saw the dog, and said "Hey, that's Buddy." Not Spike or Scout. Interesting. It turns out that the dog's owners went back to Canada, decided not to take Buddy, and were going to put him down when Lee said he would watch after him. But Lee is gone all day, and Buddy could only be left in the house all day. When Buddy got out, he would run away. And so that's when we found him.

So, Buddy was staying at Jeni and Eleanor's, but every day he would find his way all the way down the hill to the bar, where he would spend his days. This arrangement seemed to be working out fine, except that Eleanor would constantly worry about Buddy, and Buddy would start to cause problems at the bar by laying down in the bodega, office, or women's restroom and, feeling cornered, would snarl when we would try to move him quickly. He doesn't bite, but he definitely could scare customers and bartenders. So, I kicked him out of the bar. And kicked him out. And kept kicking him out. And he kept coming back. Jeni decided to have a talk with Lee and ask him to take newly named Boomerang "Boomer" back. (Buddy never answered to Buddy, but seems to like Boomer, and it's perfectly fitting).

But staying with Lee isn't really a good option. Staying at Eleanor and Jeni's causes stress because he is always down here. So, after virtually no thought, I decided he's welcome to stay with me. I will leave him tied to a rope at my house if he keeps trying to come in the bar, he will sleep at my house, he will feel at home at my house, and still be here in the ghetto where he seems very happy. I don't know why Boomer is in our lives right now, but he is, and I've just decided to accept it and love it for what it is. Boomerang is now part of the family.

That being said, if anyone (preferably with a fenced in yard) wants a super-sweet dog, come meet Boomer. I'm sure he'd love someone to really love him like he deserves.

Roadtrip to Manuel Antonio

2009-05-16T08:50:00.001-07:00

So late Thursday night, Scott and I are in the bar, and he reminds me of a conversation we had with Jeni, Pepper, and Ozzie on Monday night about a pink sand beach south of Quepos. Strangely, I didn't even REMEMBER the conversation, and I wasn't drinking on Monday. So, I asked him who actually mentioned the pink sand beach, and he said it was Ozzie. And here's the REALLY strange part... Ozzie wasn't here on Monday night! So his story was suspect.

It turns out that the conversation actually happened on Tuesday night, not at the bar but at Jeni's house, and it was, after calling all over town trying to find out who might have mentioned it, Fred who brought the pink sand beach to Scott's attention. In any event, on Friday morning, we set out in search of the mystical place.

We started in normal fashion, blasting music as we left this small town. We stopped in Parrita first for a Cuba Libre, which is now our tradition, and Jeni and Pepper came up with the great idea to run by Ropa Americana (second-hand clothing). They invented a game where we drew someone's name out of a hat, and we bought one item of clothing for that person, and that person had to wear that item all day. So, we left the store after many laughs... Jeni sporting a pink shirt with Grover from Sesame Street on the front with script reading "Super Fly"... Pepper showing off the Jackson Five on her black T... And the boys all in random basketball jerseys, which gave birth to the now infamous Oeste Pistachios (named hours and hours later after the flavor of Pepper's ice cream in Manuel Antonio), consisting of Gonzalez, Poynter, Dos Dos, and our center, Bubba, who never showed.

After a tough game against the local Parrita basketball team, where Gonzalez fouled out after 17 minutes in spite of the opposing team's forfeit for failure to appear, we continued on our journey south. Perhaps the highlight of the entire trip was when we waited for 45 minutes or so for the bridge south of Parrita, where I eventually had to get out of the car and dance (see short clip below). We took team photos (see above), and the girls made at least one construction worker's day. Basically, we just impressed a hundred or so angry motorists with our skills for the better part of an hour.

After the bridge was finally cleared, Jeni took us off the path to a sweet restaurant down on the river. It's a nice little place - an old Panamian boat floating over the river south of Parrita which had been remodeled into a really quaint soda. Oh, and it also burned down TWO YEARS AGO. Well done Jeni. Well done.

We eventually arrived in Manuel Antonio, perhaps just kilometers from the enchanted beach that had drawn us already literally MILES from our own home, and finally got some amazing BBQ at a lean-to make-shift restaurant on the beach. After lunch, we had a team huddle, and quickly decided to abandon our what now seemed impossible search for the pot of gold on the other side of the rainbow, and instead buy a bottle of rum and some juice to enjoy a drink or two on the beach in between body-surfing, kite flying, and frisbee tossing sets.

Exhausted, we decided to start to make our way back at about 3:30 after a nap and some ice cream (thanks to Ally, perhaps our first fan, at the local gelato shop there on the strip). Scott fought through the ridiculously hard rain, which finally let up just in time for us to dance a bit more as we waited again for the bridge to clear, this time heading north. As we passed through Parrita, we stopped by Ropa Americana again, had some fun with hats and stuffed animals without spending a dime, and crossed the street for a last Cuba Libre before the final leg. We went into the less-than-upscale grocery store, Pali, and got the rock star treatment our team deserves, as Gonzalez was ushered from the back of the line to a hidden register opened just for the Pistachios. We're that cool.

After about 20 minutes, we found ourselves still right in front of the grocery store, laughing and loving, without having even realized what we had become. Yes, we had become those unshowered loiterers that hang out on the sidewalk in front of the grocery store in funny t-shirts and basketball jerseys, drinking cans of rum and coke and providing obstacles for the poor patrons trying to exit the store with their full carts of groceries. And it was GLORIOUS. The pistachios and their harem of cheerleaders gracing the Pali with their presence, with nowhere to go and nothing to do but bask in the glory of their recent victory. We decided on one more Cuba Libre, and after some post-game stretching, we took off for home, where we got the type of non-existent hero's welcome we deserved, non-existent parade and all. Life is good when you're a star.

For all the pics, check out my facebook page. I'll also put a link to it on the Lowtide facebook page.

Dave Barry

2009-05-14T13:00:00.000-07:00

So, Steve offered to bring a little light reading down, and I guess it occurred to me that, while my blog centers on all this deep shit lately, I also just have a lot of fun and laugh a lot. I'm reading Dave Barry's "Dave Barry Slept Here," which is ridiculously funny. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to come up with enough unique ways to make someone laugh to fill an entire book, but he seems to do pretty well.

An interesting side note: I studied Dave Barry at Harvard. I bet he would like to know that. I studied him in a class that was entirely designed to analyze humor. Only at Harvard. Take something simple and beautiful and study the hell out of it until you can form a complex equation that explains exactly how it works and you no longer have to suffer through enjoying something without knowing why you enjoy it. Can you imagine going through life not knowing why you think green is a pretty color?

And as for the deep shit... it's interesting how, while all of this stuff seems deep, it actually lightens me up. I'm taking everything a lot less seriously, in spite of what this blog might say. I laugh at my thoughts all the time. I laugh at my dog a lot. I laugh at Randall. He's easy to laugh at. I watch the same stupid movies over and over (I'm pretty sure I know Zoolander word for word the whole way through). My life isn't all deep introspection, it's mostly just watching and enjoying. I just don't write about that, although perhaps I'll start. That could be fun too.

Right Now - 13/5/09 10:29 AM

2009-05-14T09:29:00.001-07:00

Right now I am in the office, after just getting off the phone with Neil, who claims he's not ALL bad. Agree to disagree. I also just sent out the weekly report to my bosses, Joey, Sam, and Shane.

I'm a little tired this morning, but feeling good. I had a nice dinner last night with a new friend, and we got into a discussion about purpose, of course, because it is what is on my mind. The conversation led into something a little new for me, and so I thought I might bring Steve back (who, by the way, just messaged me yesterday and is coming back for the whole month of July). A while ago I started talking about how I am not Steve, which is strange for me. The more and more I distance myself from myself, the more I am beginning to experience "myself" - my thoughts, body, emotions - as I had previously experienced other people. And what's more, I am experiencing other people closer to how I used to experience myself. I view myself as perhaps no more special than you, and therefore you become as special as me, which is really pretty neat. It's like I am identifying myself with everything, instead of just this body, these thoughts, and these emotions. Instead of just enjoying my experiences, thoughts, emotions, and feelings, I am starting to enjoy EVERYONE's like they were mine. I'm identifying "I" as less just me, and now more of everything.

But we also got a bit into the discussion of who I am. I think maybe I'm starting to see the "I" as both nothing and everything at the same time. Perhaps this "I" that I use to describe the consciousness is the universe, and only my brain individualizes it somehow. But at the same time, I still can't read your thoughts. I still can't see through your eyes. Doesn't that automatically separate us somehow? I'm not sure I've ever heard of anyone who can see through another's eyes; but is it possible?

So, strange thoughts this morning. Wonder where this will go next. I think that I've got to stop talking like this to new friends if I am ever going to actually make new friends. In any event, I think I'll go back to the house now and read a bit of Byron Katie, who has another great quote I read a couple of days ago: "The truth is that there's no such thing as enlightenment. No one is permanently enlightened; that would be the story of the future. There's only enlightenment in the moment. Do you believe a stressful thought? Then you're confused. Do you realize that the thought isn't true? Then you're enlightened to it. It's as simple as that. And then the next thought comes, and maybe you're enlightened to it as well." Cool.

Comments

2009-05-14T07:55:00.000-07:00

So, I guess I have never allowed comments from non-registered users. Now anyone can post comments. Neat.

Purposeless

2009-05-13T08:12:00.000-07:00

I'm going to take the next step now. If there is no real pain in the world, it's all just in our minds, why try saving anyone? Why are we trying to save ourselves? Is the compassion for the ego? What exactly are we trying to help? If we are suffering, and we alleviate that suffering, either through awareness or through intervention, what, exactly, are we helping? What is our purpose? It seems to me that if we alleviate the suffering through intervention, we are helping the mind, the brain, the ego: that which believes in the pain.

If we help through awareness, though, we may be accomplishing two things: killing that which suffers and bringing awareness of the universe to the universe. But why? Looking at my path, I definitely have found that I started on the path with reason, which is interesting. I started on this path with an intellectual purpose to ease my own suffering. And then the purpose seemed to start to change to just becoming awareness. But now, it seems, as my awareness arguably grows, it's killing purpose. That intellectual vehicle that started me on this path is exactly what is being dismantled through awareness, and it leaves me, well, I'm left just existing. Still moving, still going, still perhaps even searching, but for what?

On the death of purpose: It seems to me that the mystics I've read seek to either bring awareness or end suffering, or both, at least at first. Starting with ending suffering: Killing that which suffers is not necessarily something worthwhile, really, as the ego seems somewhat meaningless in the world. Whether it exists or not is, well, not important. It's just an ego. Is it a being? Is it something worth preserving? Is it the Devil? Is it bad? Intrinsically bad? Is killing it a good purpose? I don't think so. It just is. So, perhaps bringing awareness of the universe to the universe is a good purpose. Why is this a goal? What does this do? Is this what the universe seeks? Tolle thinks that the universe wants awareness of itself, seemingly for fun. But why? It comes down to this: if there is no good or bad, why try for anything? If there is no good or bad, there is no better. If there is no better, there is no purpose.

In the movie contact, there was always a line that I loved towards the end of the movie. Matthew McConaughey, who has become the spiritual leader of the country, is asked whether or not he believes Jodie Foster, a strict scientist, when she describes a mystical journey where she met with technologically advanced aliens in a galaxy far far away. He responds, "As a person of faith... I am bound by a different covenant than Dr. Aroway - but I believe our goal is one and the same: the pursuit of truth. I for one believe her." I've always absolutely loved that quote because it is exactly what I feel is the connection between religion and science. People are just searching for what is. But here's the part of it that may be the death of the ego which makes the pursuit of truth so difficult and leads to such different conclusions: The truth just may be that there is no purpose. There is no goal, no end point, no purpose. In this respect, I think the mystics have it right, there is only the present. There is no future to seek, no reason for doing or even being. There just is... As de Mello would say, wake up! But it seems you'll then discover there's absolutely no reason to.

I've got to stop listening to Enigma in the mornings.

Good Bad Pain Pleasure

2009-05-12T16:47:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is going to get deep. I was in the hammock earlier, doing what I do, and had to grab a pen and paper to jot down some thoughts. Here are some of them:

Perhaps there is no good or bad, pain or pleasure. I am beginning to consider the possibility that nobody is actually suffering, as the Buddhists might have you believe, but instead everyone just THINKS they're suffering. If you can get rid of thinking, you just are. You may be hurt, you may be tortured, you may be broken hearted, but only thinking that you are actually something other than the universe leads to the belief that you are suffering. The universe just is. If you can recognize that you are part of the universe, an infinitesimally small part of the universe, the suffering that you feel all of the sudden becomes part of the whole, which just is.

Let's come at it from a different perspective. There is no good or bad, only thinking makes it so. I mentioned in some blog earlier how small our perspective is of the universe. We make judgements on whether something is good or bad while only knowing an infinitesimally small portion of the whole, an infinitesimally small portion of the effects of any one event. As your perspective gets wider and wider, you are able to see that in every "bad" event, there are what your brain might consider wonderful consequences, and in every "good" even, there are absolutely horrible consequences. And if you examine all you actually know, you will find that the path you are able to follow, with all of the influences, is ridiculously small. Even to the second OF the event, taking time out of the picture, you know nothing about the particular event in the grand scheme of the universe. All you know is the tiny piece you think you see.

Perhaps the universe just is. And as we take every person, action, breath, and see that it has an effect on every single part of that universe, we realize that it's all just one. The universe is all just one. And segmenting it into tiny parts is what causes us to believe things are good or bad. Cutting it up into what we think or perceive creates an illusion of this dichotomy. And when our brain separates us from the universe, we create an illusion of pain and pleasure within ourselves, instead of just seeing that it all is just a tiny part of our whole being, which is the universe. We are all the universe. Not part of it, we ARE it.

Tolle at one point in some book mentioned that he found that when he felt physical pain in some part of his body, if he perceived that physical pain throughout his whole body it diminished the pain. Try it. I did, and found the same. If I feel the pain in my shoulder not as a pain in my shoulder, but as pain in a very small part of my body as a whole, then it becomes not so bad, it's just a little tiny part of the whole. Imagine if we could do this and see the pain as a pain in a small body part in a much larger body in a much larger family in a much larger society in a much larger world in a much larger universe! And it's not just physical. We can do it with everything. This is not a good or bad feeling, not pain or pleasure, it's just part of the universe. It just IS the universe. And the universe just is.

May Full Moon Party

2009-05-12T16:41:00.001-07:00

We had another great FMP on Saturday night. This time we got the Chupacabras to play for a few hours, as about 90 people laughed, danced, and drank Silk Panty shots. Jeni worked her first shift, helping me and Ingrid to serve the thirsty customers, and Randall worked the grill as he does. The band rocked until 11:30, and the party lasted until about 2:00. Here are a few pictures.

Right Now - 12/5/09 7:55 AM

2009-05-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

Right now I am at the bar, after just opening and throwing on some Enigma. I am a little earlier than usual this morning after having a decent 5:30 session with Larry, Brett, Pat, Adam, and Les. The waves were okay, but the pelicans were certainly my highlight. With just the slighest offshore breeze, the pelicans were still able to glide just above the waves. They pass in groups of 5 to 10 without making a sound, just silent beauty like paddling through glassy water in between sets. The morning was grey, but still and beautiful.

This time of year, many parts of the town have the sweet but bitter smell of rotting fruit as the mango trees shed hundreds of mangoes throughout the streets and yards. Piles of the rotting orange and yellow flesh provided highlights of bright color on the early morning grey walk to the beach from the Soda, as the light rain gave us a taste of moisture on our skin before diving in for the paddle out. Larry picked up a mango on the walk, and rinsed it in the ocean for a pre-session sweet snack. This is truly a land for senses.

I feel content this morning. I feel a little excited in a boyish kind of way, I think probably about a date I hope to go on this week. I don't have a whole lot of thoughts this morning, just a feeling of peace. Maybe it's the Enigma. Or Olie licking herself on the bar by my computer. Or Jake sleeping under the table next to me. Or the grey sky. Or the rolling waves. Or the ever so slight breeze now coming from the sea. Or maybe it's just me.

ROADTRIP to Atenas

2009-05-09T09:04:00.000-07:00

So, last Monday, when five of us polished off a bottle of Tequila, we came up with a brilliant idea: a roadtrip to Atenas. (Mondays are becoming notorious for excellent ideas: see Boogie Days.) So, yesterday morning, I fifth wheeled it with Jeni, Scott, Pepper, and Ozzie, and we packed up and headed to Atenas. Now, first, for those of you that don't know, Atenas is a town of about 25,000 located in the mountains between here and San Jose. And generally, I know nothing about Atenas. Except that Ozzie lived there for perhaps most of his life.

So, we took off in the Silver Bullet at 8:00 AM, not really knowing where we were going, and definitely not knowing why. We put on some awesome music, and did a lot of seat dancing, laughing, yelling, singing, and storytelling (GET OUT OF THE CAR JENI, Capitan Coyote y Pimienta Picante, to name two). We stopped to get a round of Cuba Libre's in cans in Orotina. I don't know quite how to explain this, but there was love spilling out of this little car. It's like there was a ray of sunshine falling down on our chariot as Scott navigated us through the twists and turns of the two lane highway snaking through the mountains. Even before we got to Atenas, it had been an absolutely wonderful day. I could feel life throughout my body, and laughed frequently even when there was nothing to laugh about.

We stopped by Ozzie's mom's restaurant, and then by her hotel for a second on the way to two waterfalls tucked in just past the town of Tecares (AKA Tecate). The falls were spectacular (pictures forthcoming), and we all got a little high, seemingly from partial asphyxiation from all the water in the air. We swam in the refreshingly cold water, and left as the thunderstorms began to roll in over the mountains. After another exquisite ride in the Bullet, we landed back at Ozzie's mom's home, where we napped on couches after wrestling with his German Shephards. Ozzie's mom came home full of life and cheer around five or six, and we dined on delicious chicken, rice, beans, sausages, tortillas, and salad. Scott suffered through vicious attacks from both Ozzie's guard-cat, who thinks he's a dog, and a scorpion hiding in the upholstery of an outdoor chair. We were all lucky enough, including Ozzie's mom, to see Scott preform the world's quickest strip dance, dropping his drawers in under a second after being stung on the ass by the monster insect. Good fun for all of us, with the possible exception of Scott.

After I almost backed off a 500 foot cliff, we made our way home late night, using our emergency flashers the entire trip to make up for a lack of taillights. We arrived back around 11:00, when we parted ways under an almost full moon, and I retired to my castle and crashed into my bed into a dreamless sleep after suffering through the second half of "Che". Awesome day. Awesome day.

Right Now - 6/5/09 7:40 PM

2009-05-06T18:40:00.000-07:00

So, right now I am, well, sitting at the bar. Like I do. I just finished cooking and eating a fine burger with mozzarella, mushrooms, and bacon. Washed it down with a toronja soda. Ingrid's "working", although we don't have any clients right now. Well, Myron just showed up, so we have Myron. And there is one guy at the bar, talking to Randall and having a drink. So that's two, really.

It's open mic night at Vago's, the pizza place across the road, so any clients we would have are over there. It's a relatively new thing he started, and was a good idea. He's got Wednesday nights locked now.

As for me, I'm a bit tranquilo right now. Not really feeling a lot of love today. I keep trying to connect into it, but am unable to. I tend to think it's because I have been drinking and smoking too much lately. I've also been really tired lately, I think for the same reason. I've been staying late at the bar, and some nights (like last night) staying here in a hammock. Tonight should be a good chill night though. Don't think we'll have a big crowd anyway.

I actually feel a bit lost tonight. Almost bored, I think. With all this around me, I feel bored. I keep thinking that I CAN'T feel bored, I'm past that already. I don't get bored. But, I know I'm past telling myself how I feel too. I'll just let myself be bored I guess. No sense letting it get to me. My head asked a question a little while ago... Isn't this new life that you seem to be leading a boring life? No ups or downs, no falling in love, no strong emotions? It's not me talking, but I'm taking note. My head answers itself, of course, knowing it would, by saying "well, is peace boring?" To which it again responds to itself and says, "um, yeah." And here I am just listening, and then watching myself type. Which brings up an interesting question... Who's typing?

And I laugh. This doesn't seem boring.

Am I going crazy? And if I am, who exactly is that? I'm reminded of an Austin Powers quote: "Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy... the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament." Maybe I'm going sane, just taking the crazy route. Me and my Fu Manchu.

Recent Life, Guilt, Negativity

2009-05-06T15:13:00.000-07:00

So I grew a Fu Manchu. Cool. There's a country song "Great Day to Be Alive," and has a line in it that says "Might even grow me a Fu Manchu." I like the song. And now I am one. It doesn't look particularly good, but it's what I got.

Let's see... What's been going on? Ariel's going away party was last week. Love that girl. She's lived here pretty much her whole life, and now going to Canada for university. Here's a pic of us at her party.

Had another sweet Monday night. Jeni, Scott, and Oz came and joined me and Pepper for some after-hours ridiculousness. Here's a pic. I love those nights, but have definitely been having too many of them. I'm drinking way too much these days. Not sure what that is all about, but I think I'll stop today.

My shoulder is still pretty out of whack, and doesn't seem to be getting any better. So I've started surfing again. If it's not going to get any better, I might as well get on with life. And maybe the surfing will help.

It's hard to concentrate. Ingrid is sitting next to me coloring her Winnie the Pooh coloring book and writing my name in colored Winnie the Pooh pens. She's 20.

Word on the street is that a Maine justice decided to allow the lawyers of the people suing me to serve me via email. Which likely puts me in the case. Which just is. I still find it all fascinating and amusing.

So, I finally finished Tolle's "A New Earth." He lost me towards the middle with a very long discussion of the pain-body, but once I finally got through it, I found the rest of Tolle EXTREMELY good and true. Certain meditations I find enormously beneficial in getting out of my mind all the time. He at one time asks the reader to try, as often as possible, to pay attention to his breathing... the inhaling and exhaling, the rise and expansion of the chest followed by the retreat. I find it centers me in the present, while feeling and paying attention the energy in every part of my body helps me to connect myself to the world around me as I observe it, and quiets the incessant labeling and narrative in my head.

I also loved his concept of purpose. He says our first purpose is our inner purpose of awakening. Following this purpose is our outer primary purpose, which is whatever we are doing right now. This second. For example, my primary purpose right now is writing this blog. Being in the present is the only way in which we can combine our outer and inner purposes. Using the present as our primary purpose is the only way it can be connected with our consciousness and be separated from our ego. In a way, it doesn't matter at all what we do, but as long as we remain in the present, what we do is what is meant to be done. For me, I would say that whatever happens is exactly what is meant to happen. At least, it's only what could have happened.

I started reading a book by Byron Katie. The second paragraph of the introduction I find absolutely perfect. "In my experience, confusion is the only suffering. Confusion is when you argue with what is. When you're perfectly clear, what is is what you want. So when you want something that's different from what is, you can know that you're very confused." I find myself less and less confused. Which is nice. And I'm still laughing more.

On one last note, I was speaking to a close friend the other day about the past and about feeling guilty. One of the authors I've been reading said at one point that there is no use in worrying about something you can do something about. Just do something about it. And there is no use in worrying about something over which you have no control, because you can't do anything about it. So really, there is never any place to worry. In somewhat of an analogy, there isn't really a place for shame or guilt, either. As soon as one feels shame or guilt about a past action, that person is no longer the person who did the action in the past. That person has become overcome with a new awareness of the situation and of himself. As soon as that awareness comes in, that person ceases to be the same person who did the thing about which he is ashamed. For me, though, shame and guilt don't have a place for another reason. I am always doing exactly as I can do. I am becoming more and more aware, but I am never more aware than I am. I can only do as good as I am. And that's it. As I become more aware, I do look back and see that I may have done some things out of unawareness that were harmful, but I would not have done them had I been aware at the time. I find I apply it to everyone. Forgiveness is easy when you recognize that negative actions are simply caused by unawareness. Honestly, instead of blame, I find compassion for the unaware. I find compassion for myself in my unawareness. It's much more productive than blaming everyone.

Many of the authors I've been reading agree that all negativity is caused by unawareness. I think I've actually found that there is no negativity in the world. There are no bad things, no bad actions, no judgement anything really at all. Taking everything in the infinite universe together, it all just is. It's unawareness that causes us to view them as bad. It's our ego that places judgement because we can't view it all. We see an infinitesimally small portion of the whole, and on that tiny close in view, we label based upon our particular line of thinking of how things should be. No, I don't think unawareness causes bad, I think unawareness causes us to think things are bad. Except Neil. He's actually bad.

Sunday BBQ

2009-05-04T14:51:00.001-07:00

So, I've been missing Oklahoma a bit lately, as I may have mentioned. So I decided to bring a little bit of Oklahoma here every Sunday, starting yesterday. Yesterday we closed the kitchen, whipped up a batch of margaritas, threw in some buckets of beer, and lighted up the grill for burgers, sausages, and grilled chicken sandwiches with sides of mashed taters and salad. Some of my happiest memories are from Boston when we would make strawberry daiquiris, and then later in Oklahoma around the pool or in the backyard with cocktails and good company. And so I'm bringing it to the Lowtide Lounge. And it was nice. I set up a nice loud sound system, played some cool chill music, and relaxed with some friends around the grill. I set up an outdoor shower between us and the beach for the day (WHICH IS A GREAT FREAKIN IDEA) making it easy to go back and forth (which Jake loved too). Randall loved getting out of the kitchen and behind the grill, and I loved kicking back and relaxing in the sun. Cool.

Other interesting things: I hired back our old guard, Flaco, after a short stint with Tigre watching the place (EVERY Tico has a nickname... Flaco has worked for me for six months and I don't know his real name). It's getting cooler here. Much cooler. It's easier to fight the mosquitos when it's cooler because I can cover completely in a sheet. I spent the night at the bar the other night, though, as we were in between Tigre and Flaco, and forgot to bring a sheet. It was too cold for the fan, but the mosquitos were too strong to turn it off. Didn't sleep much, but it was still much better than the last time. Rained all night which was particularly nice. I figure after a few more nights here I'll get it down.

So, I don't really have any pictures to share, so I'll just attach this one from a couple of weeks ago; the day I returned from Aspen. Went from cowboy to ski bum to driving fast to hanging a surf bum all in a few days. Neat.

Boogie Days (and Nights)

2009-05-02T15:24:00.000-07:00

So, here's something cool that happened last week. On Monday night, I came back to the bar after a great dinner with mom and Ron. There were a dozen or so people at the bar, all carryin on, having a good time. I had a couple of drinks with them, and it was 4/20, so some of us were doing what people do on 4/20. We decided that, because there hadn't been waves in a while, we should have a Boogieboard tournament. The next day. At noon. Brilliant. And because these brilliant late-night ideas frequently get lost in the next morning's hangover, we made and signed a damn legal, enforceable CONTRACT that we would come. And then we made a contract for a lifeguard (Ozzie), which consisted of a one sentence paragraph, "I got you, bitch," followed by a Ozzie's John Hancock. We took odds, which were at best incoherent, and called it a night.

Sure enough, at noon the next day, EVERYONE showed up for a couple of margaritas and out into the water we all went on boogies. Which was funny. Because we generally don't boogie. We even gained some extras, and filled all 16 of Brett's boards. The judging panel consisted of Millie, a new comer to our community. It was an absolute blast. Even Jake got out on a boogie for a bit. He needs some practice, but he had fun.

That night, we had the first Boogie Night here at the bar, which consisted of a quick award ceremony, some disco music, and the song "Boogie Nights" on repeat for perhaps an hour or more against heartfelt, sincere, begging opposition from pretty much everyone here, with the possible exception of Brett, who stood guard at the office door to block our poor patrons from changing that blessed song. And here's why we didn't: Cause Boogie Nights are always the best in town!

Can't wait for the next dry spell.

Right Now - 29/4/09 10:11 AM

2009-04-29T09:11:00.000-07:00

Right now, I'm sitting next Larry having a coffee and a breakfast burrito, listening to some new age, wishing I had some clean clothes.

My shoulder is astoundingly better. Here's the scoop: Three nights ago, a chiropractor friend of mine was in the bar and gave me a little adjustment to try to help my shoulder. It seemed to have maybe helped a little, but my biggest problem was that I couldn't really move still. The pain with it sitting by itself wasn't bad, but if I tried to raise my elbow or rotate at the shoulder, it would get to a sticking point, as if something was catching it. Then, bringing it back to its natural position, it would click with spurts of pain, again like a tendon or something was catching and releasing. So the night before last, I'm walking around looking kinda strange with my arm up, and I went to sit with some other friends, one of whom is a therapeutic "medicinal" masseuse from Sweeden, Anna. She had had a couple of drinks, but said she wanted to take a look. I preferred to just let it heal, but she insisted, and came up behind me. She examined my shoulders with her hands for a bit, and then put two fingers super deep into my armpit, to the point where it was more than uncomfortable. She applid pressure and said "it's moving now," which I couldn't feel anything at all. 10 seconds later, she retreated and told me to lift my arm. In disbelief, I gave it a shot, and found I had full range of motion. Un-freakin-real. I was sure I was out of commission for weeks, but in literally one minute, my arm became my arm again. Still a bit sore and certainly stiff, but completely usable. I'm lifting crates again, and even went for a short surf session last night. If this had happened anywhere else in the world, I would have been out for a whole lot longer, probably would have undergone physical therapy, and maybe even just continued to do damage. Turns out my muscle under my pectoral muscle was just in the wrong place, and she just put it back where it belongs. Freakin crazy.

Anyway, right now I feel good. I'm a little energized by a cup of coffee, but feel calm and kinda relieved, in spite of not really ever feeling stressed. Odd the way that works. I am constantly witnessing an actual difference in my life, finding myself being very easy and even happy and laughing in situations that would have once caused considerable stress, anger, and frustration in the past. It's pretty cool. I definitely find myself taking EVERYTHING less seriously. But at the same time, I do get caught. I can sense my ego at work, trying his hardest to fit the world around me into my comfort box, and right now I think it fits, so part of my ease is a quiet ego. It sure makes me even more interested continuing to rob my ego of its strength. I think a quiet ego is basically the same as a non-existent ego, which means I could have the peace all the time if I could be totally rid of that devil that still lives inside of me. The calm used to give credit and therefore strength to my ego, but now I think the calm is beginning to take strength away because it reminds me of how good life can be without that nagging son of a bitch. Or maybe not, maybe my ego is still smart enough to convince me of that so I continue to seek his calm. I wonder if this is how split personalities start. So do I.

Tuesday Nights

2009-04-29T08:53:00.000-07:00

So, two nights ago (Monday night) we had a freaking awesome Tuesday night party, and I think set my new record for staying open. About 10 of us decided to tie one on until about 3 in the morning. The night included dancing on the bar, Michael Jackson, the splits, Boogie Nights, a little cripe, Shakira, dancing on the coolers, mild nudity, Boogie Nights (cause everyone knows that Boogie Nights are always the best of times), Miguelito shots, bad decisions, severe dehydration, and Boogie Nights. The local disco closed and the owner actually came down at 2:30, concerned after hearing our ruckus 150 meters down the road. Here are some pics from the ridiculous evening.

Mom and Ron's Visit

2009-04-29T08:11:00.000-07:00

So, this doesn't have a whole lot of pictures to it, unfortunately. I don't know if I have any pictures from my mom's trip down here. The one picture we really did have was left in a camera at the Campo Verde cabinas near Arenal. Hrmm.

So, here are some great things. Everybody loves my mom. Which makes sense. She's nice. When she came to town, everyone heard about it quickly and it made me realize how lucky I am both to have such a wonderful mother and live in such a positive community. Several dozen people came up to my mom and said, "Oh, I heard you were in town. So nice to meet you!" And then follow it with some compliment about me. It was Funny-Farm-esque. People here hug and kiss (guys don't kiss guys, but every other combination works), so my mom and Ron both got plenty of affection. My mom, in spite of her somewhat disgusted reaction to my house, said she felt a lot better about me living down here. So that's nice.

I miss them already.

Quick highlight - Traveling to Arenal. After picking up Jeni at the airport, we drove to see the active volcano where we spent a couple of nights. It was incredible. We walked to where we could sit on some lava flow from 1992, and watched and listened as house size rocks tumbled from the crest a thousand feet down to the base, leaving puffs of dust and debris as they repelled off the steep slope of ash and gravel. With each landslide came the anticipation of the delayed barrage of thunderous applause echoing down the canyons formed by timeless fury. A skirt of cumulous clouds lifted in the early morning to expose all but the very lip of the lone mountain, creating a lusting desire to see the peak, just for a second, just once. Over lunch and an Imperial, we watched as her skirt blew lazily in the breeze, rising, rising, rising, and then falling just before she was completely exposed as if she knew how to keep our undivided attention without compromising her integrity. She left us satisfied and in awe, but wanting more, the perfect seduction.

And interestingly, we met a guy from Norman, Oklahoma, who owns a sweet little hopping dinner spot in La Fortuna, Lava Lounge, just a few K from the volcano. Cool.

Right Now

2009-04-27T17:05:00.000-07:00

I'll keep trying to catch up in the coming days, but I wanted to add a little bit about where I am RIGHT NOW. Right now, I am in my office, where it's starting to cool down after another freakin hot day. My right shoulder is pretty messed up after I took a bunch of rolls on my board up near Caldera a few days ago. Probably will be out of the water for a couple of weeks. Brook Marie's "Romance" is playing off my iPod on the speakers outside. I'm tired after being sick with a stomach parasite over a couple of torturous days this week. But I'm good. I'm thinking about buying a vehicle. It would be nice to have some freedom to cruise. And my Jeep sold in Oklahoma. I have no debt. To anyone. Or so I think.

I've been a little sad lately, but also in a pretty damn good spot and happy. Even in the illness I was happy. Even with my arm in a sling I'm happy. Even with Jake's fur falling out, I'm pretty happy. I still get angry or moody a bit, I still get sad and even a bit depressed, but I honestly feel pretty happy all the time. Content. Cool. Chill. Yeah. Yeah.

I'm going to connect more. I like that. Not connecting sucks butt in comparison. I don't think I've ever sucked butt, so I'm not sure that was an accurate statement, but I definitely prefer being connected.

My shoulder hurts too much to continue. But that's a good glimpse of where I am now, right now.

Dad's Wedding

2009-04-27T16:13:00.000-07:00

So I went to Aspen for a few days. In spite of me thinking the whole theme was a bit silly, I had a GREAT time. It wasn't so silly when I got to mount up on Fury, once my special filly, in 1880's style Wyatt Earp garb sporting a thin handlebar mustache and ride to a "babbling brook" to escort my new sister down a slippery slope to the narrow bridge before watching my dad get married to a super-cool chick. Neat. The next day I got to play ski-bum and hit the slopes with my dad and his new bride while the wind swept from over the continental divide. Follow that up with driving 128 miles an hour in my childhood DREAM CAR (Porsche 911 Carrera 4) in the snow up to McClure Pass with my dad making permanent fingerprints in the passenger seat leather, and you've got one hell of a passport stamp vacation. Here's my dad's wedding announcement in the Oklahoman yesterday (I thought you might get a kick out of it.. I did):

Donald M. Smith of Oklahoma City, and Krissa K. (Van Pelt) Halter from Denver, exchanged wedding vows March 28, 2009 in an event reflective of the spirit of the Old West.

The couple was married near a silver mine site in the ghost town of Ashcroft, 10 miles from Aspen.

In keeping with a Victorian theme, Krissa wore a shearling wedding coat, stovepipe boots, Italian leather riding slacks, a ruffled shirt, and a black cowboy hat. Don wore an 1880's style, formal, wing-collared shirt with a string bow tie and a long black frock coat. Guests were brought to the wedding site in a 20-person sleigh drawn by Percheron draft horses.

Don, his two sons Michael and Brian, and his Best Man, Mike Young, rode their quarter horses to the wedding site from up the valley in two feet of snow. Krissa, her mother Gertrude Van Pelt, her daughter Heather Van Pelt, and her Bridesmaid, Holly Gomez, rode to the wedding site in a small sleigh pulled by Clydesdales.

Reverend Luke Back of St Paul's Cathedral in Oklahoma City officiated, as the couple stood on a narrow foot bridge over a babbling brook. Together, the wedding party read prayers of Celtic spirituality written by J. Phillip Newell, their friend and expert on Celtic spirituality.

During the procession and recession, the children of Don's cousin, Cara, beat a Native American drum and struck a Tibetan song bowl. After the ceremony, Krissa mounted Mac, the quarter horse Don gave her as a wedding gift, and Don mounted Blue.

Hand-in-hand, they rode through the snow to the 130-year-old Blue Mirror Saloon in Ashcroft, where they hosted their guests with champagne and hot cider. The couple is honeymooning in Egypt, riding Arabian horses in the desert to reach the pyra mids at dawn.

The couple will reside at Duck Smith Farms in Logan County, Oklahoma, and at the Lazy O Ranch near Aspen. Don founded Smith Cogeneration, a developer of highly efficient power plants. Recently, Don founded Smith Algae Biofuels and BioFeeds.

CO2 emissions from his natural gas-fired plant in Oklahoma City will feed algae, which will pro duce diesel oil. The algae will also generate the type of oils rich in omega 3 fatty acids, which will be fed to a new blood line of cattle, developed at Don's ranch north of Oklahoma City.

Don, a Harvard graduate, began his quest to improve the environment with economic practicality as an assistant professor of economics at Southern Methodist University.

Oh, my dad (and Krissa) changed his (their) last name(s) to VanPelt-Smith. THAT was a surprise. I think it's sweet. But it brings up a couple of things. First, I noticed how much my father's last name has played a symbolic part in our relationship. He has frequently wanted one of his son's to carry on the family companies, most of which have used our last name in some pseudo-hyphenated way with another word that makes it sound really cool. PowerSmith. HydroSmith. Smith Cogeneration. DuckSmith. (Okay, that doesn't sound all that cool, but we were kids...). He even spoke about turning Quoddy Bay into QuoddySmith, and we recently named the "Algae Company" Smith Algae BioFuels. Anyway, as he changes his last name, I start to realize how silly it really is to want to "keep things in the family." I guess I might see things differently when I have kids, but I question whether we put too much emphasis on family. Are we any more connected to family than we are to friends or even strangers? And why? Because we share genes and eye color, and have gone through our experiences in close proximity for many years? But in the end, aren't we all connected in such a way that is so much greater than this genetic and experiential bond? I believe our connection through God, the Light, our spirits, that "iron string" is far more meaningful than the bond of chromosomes and proximity. After all, love is really love, right? I don't really believe there are degrees there. Like Papa, in The Shack, who is "especially fond" of EVERYONE. This is not intended to say that we aren't closer in our relationships to our family at all. I certainly am much closer in my relationship to my mom and dad than I am to, say, Mickey Rourke. And that has a lot to do with me being their son and our proximity as I grew up. Anyway, it's interesting how when he decided to change his last name, I found myself less attached to carrying on the last name, even though the name didn't change at all. Strange.

Oh, and the second thing. I've decided to one-up dad and Krissa. They each changed their last name, and I have decided to change BOTH of my names. I would now appreciate it if you would all refer to me as VanPeltSmith VanPelt-Smith. Perhaps DOCTOR VanPeltSmith VanPelt-Smith. Yeah.

Quick Overview of the Past Month

2009-04-26T19:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, just to get started again, and sorry to myself for the delay in writing, here's some neat shit about the last month:

Busted my surfboard on my elbow in a nasty shore-break out front.
Had some wonderful parties at the bar.
Four wonderful friends moved back (many left).
My dad got married. I got to play cowboy, got to play ski bum, got to play race-car driver, got to hang out with new family.
Got the chance to see a person I love and have missed dearly in Denver. Ahhh.
Semana Santa. Licores locked up, but didn't stop the crazy drunkenness throughout this super-religious country. Not as crazy as everyone warned.
Neil and Megan are freaking pregnant! No shit. Not lying. Mike and Hayden and now Neil and Megan. I'm going to be an uncle TWICE over.
My mom and Ron came to visit. Awesome. Absolutely loved every minute of it.
Saw Arenal, my first active volcano that I remember. Got to watch her strip-tease.
Started a new tradition of "Boogie Days and Boogie Nights."
Injured my shoulder getting rolled in out-of-my-league waves in Caldera.
Got super-sick again, this time just a stomach parasite probably from the few gulps I took in Caldera. That sucked.
Read a LOT. "The Shack", "Inner Revolution", "How to Practice". Got some good shit from it all, especially The Shack.

All in all, it's been perhaps one of the craziest months of my life, and that says a lot. I'll publish more detail starting tomorrow. And I'll get back into writing daily, or at least every other day. Starting tomorrow.

Neat.

Feeling love.

Dog Days of Summer

2009-03-20T15:35:00.000-07:00

It's hot.

Pictures from Fred's Party

2009-03-19T10:18:00.001-07:00

Here are some pics from that party 10 days ago. They were taken with Robin or Amy's camera (not really sure which), from the Carolina Crew, so they are heavily biased towards, well, a handful of crazy Carolinians and those surrounding them. You can see more on my post on my facebook page. Honestly, this may have been one of the best parties I have ever been to. Aaron Nazrul and the Boom Booms played for hours, and during the breaks Martin DJ'd. Ridiculously fun and diverse crowd, all of whom were friends. I certainly had had a few by the end, but I'll admit that I started wearing the pink boa before drink one. Thanks Pat. Still don't know where the jester hat came from, but Amy likens me to the tooth fairy towards the end of the night. Fun stuff.

Dinner with the Reitanos and Creation

2009-03-18T19:18:00.000-07:00

I had a wonderful dinner two nights ago with some new friends, Simone, Michael, Brianna, and Zach, along with Mike and Donna, up in the posh Los Suenos resort in Herradura... Lots of awesome philosophical discussion. Brianna writes and records songs, and has an amazingly soulful voice that you can check out here, if you are interested: http://www.myspace.com/brireitano. Mike is an artist as well (http://www.savlenstudios.com/), and so we had some interesting discussion especially about maintaining purity of art when you are also using it for a source of income or to become "successful." It seems to me that, as soon as your definition of success, in ANYTHING whether artistic or otherwise, depends on other people (for money, fame, "living forever", popularity, power, control), you immediately give up some of your freedom, and therefore "purity" in whatever you do. It seems to be no longer from your spirit, but instead an intellectual approach to what might appeal to someone else. Some good discussion, though, about needing to afford paint to paint, followed by a quote about how a truly free man can be free even when in prison. In any event, it was wonderful conversation.

Are we all artists? I guess I'm kinda defining artists as those who use creativity in action, although that may be incorrect. I had trouble coming up with the "otherwise" in the sentence containing "artistic or otherwise" above, because it occurred to me that, in a way, if we're doing something that comes from our spirits, it's literally creative... Created. Not caused. Created. Everything else is caused by a long chain of programming. Coming from the spirit, though, seems to be just, well, created.

But here's where I was stuck for 28 years... creation is intellectually impossible. The Causal Theory, which is a fine piece of logic that I may be horribly misrepresenting, states that everything is either caused or is random. If something is not caused by something else, how can it be anything other than perfectly random? Actually, if you want to get into it, randomness is intellectually impossible as well. I'll try to explain, knowing that I am not good at this. Imagine a needle that swings back and forth between the red side and the blue side. This needle can be caused to stop on blue or on red. If it is not caused to stop on blue or red, the only possibility is for it to randomly stop on one or the other. Otherwise, why did it stop on one and not the other? We, like the needle, are either caused to stop on one decision, by experiences, evolution, or some other long or short chain that lead us to be pre-disposed to the choice given the circumstance, or the choice is made randomly. It can't be anything else. However, if there is perfectly even odds between red and blue, neither can ever be chosen. SOMETHING must cause the needle to choose one or the other. There must be SOME reason for it to stop on blue instead of red. Which leads us to only one real possiblity... that everything is caused. Creation, literally, is infinitely impossible (sorry God), even in randomness. The beginning of the universe, for example... If it was random, why didn't it set something in motion that eventually made me have three arms? We know it didn't, and if we start to explain, we start with "Because..." Reason. Cause. Precedence. Every question of why is answered with a cause or an "I don't know," which simply is our inability to list the causes back to, well, interesting...

And my God does this fit in well with everything else I've been thinking about lately (maybe it's time to stop thinking again). Intellectually, all is caused. And yet how many of us believe in free will! How many of us feel that we actually have control over ourselves, our actions, our thoughts, our emotions, our world, our future, our fate!

Here's my feeling, and I can't explain it logically or rationally. I've stopped trying to rationalize things, because it doesn't work on the spiritual plane. Just because we can't explain it, and it defies our logic, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. There must have been a start. I believe that perhaps the causal theory fits here in our human experience, but with a minor difference. Everything is either caused, or is spiritual. Creation lies in the spirit. Free will lies in the spirit. Most of what we think of as free will is actually still part of the long chain of causation, programmed into us by some force outside of ourselves. We can explain how we chose one thing or another, but the vast majority comes down to things we have been taught. It is only those things that we have not been taught that are truly creative. Only those things that come from our spirit are uncaused.

But now it's late, and I'm tired. I believe everything happens the only way it can happen, and yet I believe in free will. I believe in creation, in spite of my intellect telling me that it's not possible. I think these are the reasons why the mystics have found it so difficult to explain happiness and love. You can't. They can not be brought into the human experience. Perhaps like "pure art." As soon as art is brought into the human experience, it is no longer created, it is caused.

That's a leap I didn't intend to take. And I don't know if I believe it. There's probably middle ground here. But it's too late to go further, and this train of thought blog has to end somewhere.

Did you hear that Mike got stung by a scorpion?

Scorpions and Crabs and Jellyfish

2009-03-18T18:18:00.000-07:00

Here's something about scorpions and crabs and jellyfish...

Scorpions: A buddy got stung by a scorpion on the beach today. Rare, I know. Here's the thing... He transported the scorpion all the way from his home to his car to the bar to the beach on the ankle strap of the leash on his longboard. Went to put on the leash, got stung on the finger. Ouch. Here's a neat fact... To decrease the pain, you can rip off the tail of the scorpion and rub the gooey fluid that comes out on the wound. Mike did it, and it helped. And then we went surfing. No waves today. No waves at all. But I went out twice. And paddled. So, that's what I know about scorpions.

Crabs: It rained three nights ago. It REALLY rained. And it was the first time in months. The neat thing was that the next day, our bathrooms here at the bar filled up with land crabs. Little blue and red creatures that live in the lawn usually. I and a six year old blonde haired blue eyed little boy went and got the broom from the kitchen, and one by one, I would get them out of the bathroom, and he would take over and sweep them out of the bar. It was like hockey with crabs. Not a big deal, but when I got home, I opened the door, and literally 30 crabs scattered as I turned on the light. They were all over the house, and scattered into every possible hiding place. Not so bad for me, really. While they can climb walls (I know, strange), they don't seem to enter my bed, at least while I am in it. But JAKE. The poor thing spent all night jerking his head from scamper of tiny crab legs on concrete to scamper of tiny crab legs on concrete. He doesn't chase them, as he has learned that they hurt when sniffed. All the more reason to keep an accurate account of their locations. Update: they're gone. After one day. Word is they migrate to the mountains in the dry season. I guess they got confused for a day, then realized it's too damn hot down here.

Jellyfish: Surfers get stung a lot in these waters. And peeing on the sting helps. It's not an old wives tale. Enough said.

One Year Later

2009-03-15T20:36:00.000-07:00

One year ago tonight I wrote in my journal "I saw my first sunset tonight, and it was beautiful."

One year ago today, I had the biggest transformation of my life. I had finished an eight day retreat in Northern California, called the Hoffman Quadrinity Process. It was the catalyst that spawned an enormous change inside of me to become as I am today. The final day of the Process, as we call it, I made a vow: To share; to connect; to love; to lighten up; and to live by my authentic self. The following day, a Saturday spent partially on Stinson Beach, partly at the Sandpiper Inn, and partly on a trail by a river nearby, a significant shift happened within me. I had only really become aware that I existed in the previous week: I saw for the first time my spirit, previously hidden from consciousness by a dense cloud of human experience-created patterns. On this particular Saturday in Stinson Beach, that spirit, I, became the home team. And my human experience, including my emotions, my intellect, my body, and all of the programming I have received, both positive and negative, were only visitors along for the ride with my spirit. I woke up. And I felt love.

In the last year, as many of you may have witnessed first-hand, I've gone through many human changes that in one way or another reflect the internal change that occurred over that week, and especially on that Saturday. I quit my job (twice), I got a tattoo, I bought a Jeep, took a roadtrip, broke up with my absolutely wonderful girlfriend of six years, moved out of our home, moved again, sold or gave away everything I've owned, moved again (this time out of the country), found desperation, faced the prospect of bankruptcy, got sued, got dengue, learned to surf (caught my "glory wave" as others called it two days ago), learned to cherish being alone, and watched. Especially watched. And watched. I've gone through peaks and valleys, I stray for sometimes weeks at a time, only to wake from sleep and return to myself with forgiveness and compassion. I find awe in sunsets. But more than anything, I love. And that is wonderful.

So today I spent the morning alone. I reminisced some, I questioned a lot, I ran through some visualizations, and took note in the simple beauty around me. I became very sad. I miss home, I miss my friends, I miss my family, I miss Kris, I miss Grizz and Mav. I miss Tone, and Deanna, and Sues, and Annette, and Frankie, and Rin, and every other single person who had their own experiences at White Sulfur Springs with me one year ago. The connection I share with them is so beautiful and so deep. But in that sadness is love. And while I'm not with any of these wonderful people now, or the countless other friends and family, I don't feel pain. Sadness without pain. Missing without longing. Love.

So, as I looked back today, I wondered whether I am any different now that I was before that week at WSS, or if I have only changed everything around me while I have stayed the same. I feel more love. I feel less anger. I feel at peace. I don't have much anxiety. But is it better? Am I now or at least moving toward something greater? After spending hours checking in with myself, I have come to only one answer: I don't care. I'm on the best path I can choose, and if nothing else, I am learning and growing in ways I never grew before. For better or for worse, I believe I am me. More me than I have ever been. And that's nice.

No Drinking or Smoking - 7 Days

2009-03-13T18:00:00.000-07:00

Starting today, I'll be sober and nicotine-less for seven days. A friend is choosing to do the same with me. Hopefully nicotine-less forever, but sober for at least seven days. I feel like an alcoholic when I say that, but fuck it. Anyway, I already notice that it's difficult. I have chosen not to drink about every other day lately, but I have tended to have a lot to drink on the "on" days, and last night I didn't drink much at all. So, something is telling me not to make a big deal out of this, and I don't want to make it any bigger than it actually is, but I thought I would share it anyway.

I realize that what I am doing is renouncing alcohol right now. My mom recently sent an email response to my last post, and described ways in which she finds it easier to distinguish between the voices inside of her (that makes her sound crazy, and she is). She said at one point that any voice that rationalizes an addiction is not your spirit. Well, this may be a rationalization, but here's my thoughts on that:

De Mello argues that we should not renounce attachments. While every great thinker uses his own words, I have found that, generally, attachments refers also to patterns, compulsions, addictions, or various other similar concepts. It's not the object of the attachment that is the problem, de Mello argues, it is the feeling that, without that object, we can not be happy. He actually argues frequently that we should not renounce, as we can not give up an attachment when we renounce it. The attachment will always be there, we're just repressing it. De Mello and Tolle both agree that, in order to rid ourselves of attachments (or programming for Tolle), we need only be fully aware of them (Tolle), and understand that we do not need those things in order to be happy (de Mello).

So, mom, there's your rationalization. It's not from me. So, if what they say is true, and I have found that much of what they say is true for me, staying away from this object of my attachment is detrimental to becoming free of it. So, why am I doing it? It feels right. It doesn't feel right drinking as much as I have been. And I am sick of feeling like I am missing something without a beer in my hand. So there.